Title: Mired in Middle-Earth
Author: Elanor
Rating: NC-17 for later chapters
Paring: various (EW/SA, OB/SB/VM...)
A/N: This is going to be a LONG haul. I've tried to distinguish between Sean Astin and Sean Bean by referring to the former as `Sean' and the latter as `Beanie.'
Summary: The actors wake up to discover they have been magically teleported into the bodies of their fictional counterparts in Middle- Earth. How do they cope with their new bodies? Will the incidents that happened to the real fellowship happen to them or is there some way of avoiding Ian and Sean Bean's death? Can they change their destiny?
Disclaimer: I do not know the actors and make no claims about their lifestyles or sexual preferences. This is a work of fiction. I make no profit from it.

**1**

Ian McKellan listened attentively to Peter Jackson's directions. To his left Viggo Mortensen and Sean Bean nodded in the appropriate places as did John Rhys-Davies who sat on a small outcropping of rock somewhat away from the rest of the fellowship. Unfortunately the 4 Hobbit actors and Orlando Bloom were not listening. Orlando was making truly horrific faces behind the director's back while the four hobbits snickered like school children. Ian gave them his best Gandalf glare and they quietened somewhat.

"So the scene is set on the twelfth day from Rivendell. Things are going well for the fellowship, they are still some miles from the Mines of Moria, the weather's good, and the landscape they're travelling through is breathtaking. I wanna sense of optimism and friendship, okay guys? We're gonna do quite a few wide shots from the helicopter so I want you to kind of let it flow, you know. Walk naturally - stroll. Mingle with each other - as your characters would - kind of get used to each other."

The actors prepared to mingle. Ian was amused at Peter's attention to detail. He found himself up front, which was only natural as Gandalf was the leader, walking with Elijah. They talked about the next scene but mostly how stunning the scenery was up here, miles from any human habitation, a land so untouched by the hand of man.

The next scene was set for after dusk when the fellowship were to turn in for the night. It was another establishing scene to illustrate the dynamics and friendships of the group - Ian rather doubted if it would ever make the final cut of the film but he appreciated the need for it. Peter bounced over.

"Guys, gather round." The guys gathered round. "The fellowship's stopped for the night. Gimli is on watch over on that stone, John. The rest of you, kinda huddle near the camp fire, in little groups. Just plonk your things down where you think you should, get comfortable - and we'll go for a take."

Elijah smiled his thanks as a props guy gave him Frodo's backpack. He tossed it to the ground, unclipping his blanket and lying it on the floor next to the other three Hobbits. He looked round; the fellowship had spread out unconsciously in a certain pattern. Vig was off on his own, just to the right of the Hobbits. His sword was lying unsheathed next to him. Elijah heard one of the crew ask him the reason for that and heard the dedicated Dane reply that he thought Aragorn would want to be prepared to defend Frodo if the alarm sounded. God, he took this job too seriously. Beanie and Ian were lying to the Hobbits' left. Gandalf had his staff to hand and was wrapped up in his cloak and blanket - Elijah could have told him that the body lost more heat through the ground than the air but what the hell. Legolas was lying next to Frodo, his hands resting lightly over his chest.

"Okay," Peter's voice drifted to him. "Get settled, go to sleep - imagine how tired you are. I want it to look real, guys. Sleep." `Whatever,' thought Elijah but obediently he closed his eyes, let his breathing drop. God, but he was whacked. Tramping up and down that mountain had wasted him and the Hobbit feet didn't help. There was a certain gait one had to adopt with Hobbit feet and it put extra pressure on the calf muscles. He shifted slightly. He could hear Sean snoring and thought that was a nice touch. The crew was very quiet, he couldn't hear a sound from them.

He could feel himself dropping off, that nice lassitude when the body feels kind of heavy and your last thoughts are jumbled and sluggish. Like he'd had too many pints - or Beanie had spiked his orange again. Elijah could feel his head and body spin. He could mentally follow the movement as he seemed to go this way and that like he was on a huge seesaw.

Ian came to himself abruptly. Goodness, he must have really drifted off. He opened his eyes ready to apologise profusely for his unprofessional conduct, expecting to see angry crewmen and probably grinning Hobbits who would rib him about old men needing their sleep. The fellowship however were still asleep....

It only gradually dawned on him that something very weird was happening when he realised there were no artificial lights beaming down on him. The fire was almost out but the moon was rising and the sky uncloudy; as his eyes adjusted, Ian was able to take a good look. There was no crew. No trucks or trailers or makeup tents. No complicated coils of cables and whirring cameras. No sound guys chewing gum in their director chairs.

Nothing.
Just him and the rest of the fellowship.

It took a while for the enormity of the situation to sink in and his first thought was anger and irritation. Peter Jackson must have decided to aid their `method acting' by abandoning them here for the night - something he and Viggo had been muttering about doing for weeks. And yet that seemed so totally unprofessional. His second thought fetched up abruptly. Of course. It was a trick, a practical joke. The cast were notorious and Ian himself had enjoyed the gentle
high-spirited pranks and silly windups, even contributing occasionally.

This was going a bit far though. His Hobbit suspects were curled up by the fire - ah but no, they weren't. The steadily breathing lumps were too small to be the actors - they must be the splendidly authentic stand-ins who stepped in when the height differential caused problems. So, Ian thought, caught between anger at having his night totally destroyed and amusement at the ingenuity of the collaborators, where were the actors hiding? He looked round suspiciously, expecting to hear a silly giggle or some other sound to give them away. He did notice for the first time that Gimli, either John or his double, was missing from his sentry post.

Suddenly there was a startled cry then one of the Hobbits woke up - Pippin. Poor lass, Ian thought - for Pippin's double was played by a lady - she's the butt of this joke too. But the face that turned to him in utter startlement was Billy's. He was on his feet and striding over before he could think properly. He seized a faggot of wood and held it to illuminate Billy's face.

He gasped. The ... person before him was all of 4 feet tall but the face and body was Billy Boyd's. Not a mask, not a double.

"Wake up! Wake up! All of you!!!"

 

**2**

Viggo had coaxed the fire back into life and the eight members of the fellowship hunched round it, stunned and bewildered, in the cold night air. The Hobbits kept staring at their roportionally-shrunken bodies, moving arms and legs that didn't work like they used to, their balance off like people who must learn to walk again after a terrific accident. Sean Bean saw Ian stroking Gandalf's flowing beard.

"Hey, is that real now?" He shook his head in disgust at actually saying such way -out words.

"I mean - oh give it here." He hesitantly touched the knights bewhiskered jaw as though he expected the man to spontaneously combust or something. Viggo smiled dryly to himself - the picture of Sean Bean groping at Ian McKellan's chin would have been hilarious in any other context. Beanie gave an experimental tug then, at Ian's grunt of pain, attempted to part the whiskers to see the glue.

Viggo rolled his eyes. If the Hobbit actors had been ... magically reduced, the chances of Ian's beard (and nose) remaining false were pretty abysmal. Beanie sat back, belatedly realised the fire was directly behind him, overbalanced and landed on top of the Hobbits and Orli. "Bloody hell," he said pithily.

"This doesn't make sense," Elijah muttered. He stared at his Hobbit feet with revulsion. There was a quick movement from Dom who crashed away from the campfire. They could all hear him sobbing. Moved, Orlando went to comfort him.

"I mean, what the hell has happened here? I'm a real Hobbit now?" Elijah looked from one to the other helplessly, finally landing on Ian, unconsciously mirroring Frodo's habit of deferring to the wizard.

"I don't know, Lij. I don't have any answers." The old man winced in apology at using a line from the film. He reached out to pat Elijah's trembling shoulders. "Whatever has happened, we are in it together, my boy, and we'll figure it out together."

Ian noticed everyone was now looking his way, the three Hobbits round the campfire, their tiny faces smudged with dirt and tears, the glowering Viggo standing watch, Sean Bean muttering to himself in his Yorkshire accent and Orli his arm round the shaking Dom. Very well, Ian thought rallying himself and suddenly wishing for a pipeful of tobacco, Gandalf's the leader,
I'll lead.

"Let us examine the facts - "

"The facts are we're fucked," Billy said, sending a lump of charcoal whizzing through the shadowy trees.

"Firstly, the crew appear to have gone. Viggo?"

"There's no sign of them. I went to check. No footprints or tyre marks, nothing disturbs the ground except our eight footprints. I walked two or three miles back the way we came and I could see no sign of anything. There are no telegraph pylons, no lights, nothing." Ian nodded gravely.

"Secondly, we appear to have been transformed into our characters. At least physically." He saw Elijah gag, pleased to see Sean moving to comfort him.

"Actually that's not quite true," Sean said, "Aside from the `obvious', I'm still Sean. I speak with an American accent and I have memories that only Sean would have - memories of a wife and child and definitely no memories of Hobbit holes."

"You're right of course," Sean Bean agreed. "Perhaps it's just a physical transformation?"
Orli shook his head - as gracefully as an elf.

"No. My senses have sharpened. I can smell wild flowers and breathing earth like never before, my eyesight is sharper. And yet, as you say Seanie, I know I am Orlando."

That sunk them into depressed meditation. The four Hobbits hunched together, their tiny faces, illuminated in the fires ruddy glow, looking pinched and strained. Viggo knelt down next to Ian, spoke in a quiet voice. "They're exhausted. We had a long day yesterday. The best thing is to let them sleep, Gand - I mean Ian." The old knight nodded. I have it easy, he thought. I've gained a scratchy beard, a wizard's staff and an obsession for tobacco. These dear ones have lost so much it tears my heart.

By common unspoken consent, the Hobbits curled up together with Beanie and Orlando on either side. Ian sat a little way off determined to stay on guard. Viggo, once he had seen to the needs of his friends joined him. "There's something else," he murmured. His eyes were intense and Ian had no problem believing this man to be the future king of Gondor. "What about John?"

Ian closed his eyes against the pain. Dear Lord, he thought, what is happening to us?

Despite his exhaustion, Elijah couldn't sleep. This body didn't belong to him. It was like that numbing stuff the dentist gave you which made your tongue and cheeks feel all squashy and tingly and made your teeth feel like they were too big for your mouth. His weight felt wrong, even his breathing pattern had changed. As an actor he was used to the feel of Frodo's false feet and ears: the heat sensation of skin sweating under rubber and the pressure of something covering your skin like too much nail varnish. What he felt now, however, was the nerve endings in his ear tips and the toughness of the souls of his feet. They felt organic and natural - they just didn't feel part of him.

And now there was another reason for his wakefulness - he needed a pee. The idea made him feel sick. The ears and feet felt strange but at least he was used to them visually. His height was a major problem but it was dark at the moment and he could ignore it. But the idea of having to touch himself there,look down - no, that he couldn't do. But the more he thought about it,the more he needed to go. In the end, he had no choice.

Carefully thinking about something else, he extricated himself from Sean and scrambled to his feet, giving himself time to gain his balance. He saw Ian watching him and felt a wave of resentment towards the Big People for whom the transition was a minor inconvenience or, in Orlando's case, an advantage. He pattered away from camp to John's rock which had been designated as the latrine. He fiddled with Frodo's breeches. This, at least, was familiar for he had long been irritated by the cut and style of the Hobbit's breeches and the way they rode up too high on his belly. He gritted his teeth and, like he was groping for a snake, did what he had to. Despite his resolution not to, he couldn't help but stare with a kind of morbid curiosity. He finished as quickly as he could and yanked up his breeches. Ian's gaze followed him as returned to camp but he ignored him and shuffled back into bed. He drew his knees up, closed his eyes and tried very hard not to cry.

The next morning dawned fair and bright, the sun warm on their faces. Ian had let them sleep themselves out for he knew it had taken the Hobbits a long time to fall asleep. Viggo, he reported, had disappeared some hours after dawn to scout around. The similarity with Aragorn was not lost on any of them. They sat huddled round the dead fire, all of them in need, the Hobbits more so. Ian was tremendously proud of how the Big People had rallied round and comforted them - again mirroring the protectiveness of their characters for the four Hobbits.

"I don't think we're in Kansas anymore," Beanie said lightly. Ian beamed at him encouragingly.

"Ian, you're the bookworm, do you recognise those mountains from Tolkein's writings? Are they the Murky Mountains or whatever they were called." Before Ian could reply, Billy interrupted.

"What are you talking about, Sean? This is New Zealand!" Ian spread his hands. "I don't know, Billy, my boy. We have been transformed into the characters - at some level anyway. There is logic in believing that the landscape has been transformed too. Viggo said last night that there was no sign of our arrival except for tracks made by eight of us leading to this site."

"Vig's back," Dom said, breaking their train of thought. The Dane striding towards them, his face grim, his sword held in his hand. He sheathed the great sword and threw his pack down beside him. He looked round at the too eager faces and felt like some witchdoctor whose potions were about to fail. Orli offered him a drink of water from the spring he'd found.

He crossed his long legs and began: "I walked about ten miles I think. I climbed as high as I could to see if I could spy any signs of human habitation. There is nothing; like last night. No telegraph poles, no roads, no isolated farmsteads, not even any sign of aircraft flight paths. Yesterday, before the.. teleportation, we drove about ten miles from that small town and there was a farm just down the hill - neither the farm nor the hill is there now as it once was. Those mountains," he waved his hands to the lowering peaks behind, "have changed topographically."

"So we're really in Middle Earth?" Dom asked in a small voice while Elijah fell back and stared up at the sky in disbelief.

"The evidence suggests that, yes." Viggo hauled his bag over and pulled two furry blood smeared bodies from it.

"Breakfast, anyone?"

The actual butchery had to be left to Viggo. The others, who didn't like to be personally introduced to their food first, quickly left the scene, gathering in a little copse of trees to stay in the shade. Ian wanted them to check their bags. They tipped them out. Rather than the stuffing which the props' guys used to fill out the backpacks to the required shape, the packs were now full - exactly as their characters would have packed them. They sifted through the things wonderingly. Pipes and tobacco, changes of clothes (thankfully!) food, cooking equipment, water pouches, knives and various bits and pieces.

"How much food do we have?" Beanie asked. "Quite a lot. Dried or salted meat, bread, ration biscuits and dried fruit. 3 rounds of cheese. Enough for a week or so. "

"In the book they are equipped by Elrond before leaving Rivendell." Ian said. "I think it would be a good idea, however, if we make use of Viggo's trapping skills wherever possible."

"Great," Dom said, "we're going after the cast of Watership Down."

They were so hungry they soon overcame their revulsion to rabbit. They were sat back at the campsite, eating surprisingly tasty rabbit stew and drinking tea. The wind blew gently in the trees and the whole place smelt so fresh and clean, like fine champagne, that it was hard to believe that evil stalked the land."So what about John?" Elijah asked quietly. They'd been avoiding the subject all day but he wasn't the only one throwing furtive glances at the stone where the Welshman should have been on watch.

Viggo shook his head. "Like the crew, there is no sign of him." Elijah coloured at the cold sounding report. "He could be hurt or lost, Vig. How do we know he didn't wake up, see that he had turned into a goddamn dwarf and flip? Turning into a Hobbit- freak is bad enough, let me tell you, Aragorn Son of Arathorn, but a dwarf!?" Orlando gripped his shoulder in understanding.

"Vig is right, Lij. There was no sign of him - none. Remember there were eight sets of footprints coming up here - eight. Three man-sized, one light like an elf's and four Hobbit sized. John was directed to sit on the stone by Peter, correct? But there's no imprint in the grass, no sign of someone sitting there for any time at all. If he left his position, there would be marks. There are none."

"So he didn't ... cross over?" Dom asked.

"Apparently not."

"The next question is why?" Beanie asked.

Elijah toyed with his metal plate and suddenly he knew.

"Because he didn't believe," he said. Seven pairs of eyes swivelled to regard him.

He shrugged in apology.

"I don't know how I know that. I.. just do."

"Go on," Ian said. He was sat on a small rock with Gandalf's staff in his hand. Unconsciously Elijah moved to lean against him like Frodo would have done.

"WE all believed in our characters. The production was much more than just another film shoot to us. We call each other `Hobbits,' you smoke Gandalf's pipe, Viggo ..." He trailed off, grinning suddenly at the tall Ranger.

"Weall know you're nuts about Aragorn." Viggo bowed. "But John, he never did that stuff. He turned up, did his close up shots and left the rest to his double. He never lived the character."

"Makes sense, I guess," Billy said.

"Damn," Dom said, "I knew I shouldn't have been so dedicated!"

They spent the rest of the morning at their campsite. They had had to admit that they really had been teleported to Middle-Earth, the evidence was overwhelming, and yet no-one wanted to take the next step and move on. Breaking camp would be like the final acknowledgement - the point when they would have to confront the knock-on effect of their sudden teleportation. Orlando spent most of the time under the spreading branches of the trees, a wondering look on his face. Viggo and Sean Bean went over.

"What?" Viggo said.

"Do you know what kind of tree this is?"

Beanie looked it up and down. "Er green mostly," he riposted. Orlando remembered to grin at him but his eyes remained distant.

"I've never seen this species before," Viggo admitted who was something of an outdoors man.

"I used to be like Seanie," Orli murmured, "I couldn't tell an oak from an ash and only knew a horsechestnut at conker time. But now, I can name every type of fauna in this glade." He touched the bark of the tree.

"And this tree is singing to me."

Beanie rolled his eyes and decided it was time to wash the pots.

The Hobbits wandered up and down still getting used to their new physical stature and learning how the feet affected the balance. It should have been amusing, seeing Dom trip over his own feet for the fourth time or Billy wriggle his toes like he was telling them what to do but they were disobeying him but no-one laughed.

Ian watched them, pity flaring in his blue eyes. He held his full pipe in his old gnarled hands and thought how much this new Gandalf-body ached and how abominably the wizard's thrice-cursed beard itched. He puffed a few times on his pipe and caught Orlando staring at him. The elf actor elegantly drifted over, sat down. "You too," he asked obliquely.

"The time has come, my dear friends, when we must decide what to do next." Ian had them gathered round on a small grassy hillock where moss and wildflowers grew among the rich grass. It was late afternoon by now and the worst of the heat was over. Ian's bushy eyebrows stuck out beyond that absurd hat and he looked every inch the wise old wizard. Dom chuckled sourly. "Find our way home." There was general approval for this statement but Viggo's cold voice cut through: "How?"

Dom frowned a little. "How the hell should I know? I don't happen to have my teleport bracelet on me." It was an allusion to an old British TV programme which the American actors didn't understand. "Hey, Beanie, call the Enterprise, would you? We don't have the faintest idea how we got here. A time tunnel, a wormhole - it could be a bloody rabbit hole for all we know."

"And it follows," Viggo said, "if we don't know how we got here, we don't know how to get out of here either."

"Peter must know we've disappeared," Dom waved a vague hand, "surely they'll attempt a rescue?"

Before anyone could reply there was a crack of breaking twigs, a snarling noise and then a huge shape was leaping towards Viggo. No-one moved. It was so utterly unexpected that for a few frozen seconds no-one could move a muscle. Then the creature raised its black sword and that seemed to break the spell. Viggo parried the thrust with all the skill Aragorn had ever possessed but his face showed his reluctance. The orc creature growled an evil snarling sound, much more bloodcurdling than the sound effect used in the film. Quick as lightening the beast swiped at his face. He parried the shot instinctively.

"Kill it!" Elijah screamed furiously.

Viggo seemed to hesitate for a moment as though gathering his courage then his eyes suddenly went flat, intense, and he ran his sword through the beast's belly. For a moment he stood there, tall and noble, every inch the future king then he fell to his knees, dizzy and sickened. The fellowship gathered round the stinking corpse. It was obviously no cunningly disguised stunt man.

"That confirms it then," Orlando said, fitting an arrow to his bow, "we are in Middle-Earth."

**3**

The arguments started again.
Those who wanted to remain where they were and try to find a way home argued that Peter would attempt a rescue. The logical place to remain would be right here. Or perhaps they could trigger a `stargate' or `wormhole' thingy. The others reasoned it wasn't safe to stay where they were, that they had to continue.

"It's much more than that," Elijah said quietly. Slowly hesitantly he pulled out the Ring and held it out on the palm of his hand. The others gasped and Beanie took an involuntary step back.

"The Ring is real, the Quest is real." Elijah flicked a glance at Sean Bean then at Ian. "It's calling to me."

Ian gently curled Elijah's fingers back over the Ring."Put it away, dear boy." Everyone gave a sigh of relief when the plain band of gold was pocketed. Ian turned to face the others.

"We do not know how to initiate the teleport and since there has been no attempt so far we can conclude that Peter and the others have not found a way either. We do not know how long it will take them. It pains me to say it, my dear friends, but we are stuck in this reality, mired in Middle Earth. We cannot go home. That being thecase, we have to consider the reality of the Ring and the quest and how they affect our decisions. The Ring is ultimate evil. We must assume that Sauron is looking for it and all that stands between him and It is the fellowship. My friends, he must not be allowed to get it."

"Why not?" It was Dom who voiced the thought. "Why can't we stay put? Take it back to Rivendell or throw it down a mineshaft in Moria? It is not our world and it is not our esponsibility to destroy it."

"We can argue that point back and forth all day," Viggo stated before Ian could reply, "Putting aside the moral issue of whether we should help, it is obvious that we must help. For our own survival we must go through with the quest. To sit here will mean death. The longer we tarry, the more time the Dark Lord has to gather his forces and plan his attack and the longer Saruman has to think up some new trickery. If we stay here - or hide - the orcs or the Nazgul or some other evil drawn by the Ring will find us and kill us. In the meanwhile the effect of the Ring on all of us will grow. Lij is right - I can feel its power and I do not know how long I can
resist it."

"We have no choice," Ian agreed. "Just because we do not live here does not mean we can turn our backs on the people who do. We cannot knowingly leave them to the Dark Lord's mercies." He hugged Dom hard then eased him away, smoothing back his curly hair. "Let us break camp as soon as possible and be on our way and who knows, Master Dominic, the fulfilment of the quest maybe the key to getting home."

They walked at a gentle enough rate for the rest of the afternoon and evening. Orlando felt like he was walking through a paintbox, the colours were so vivid. Everything interested him; the play of the wind through the clouds, the bracken on the stone, the wildflowers nodding in the knee high grass. He continually stooped to the ground to touch an exquisite bloom with gentle fingers or paused to listen to a bird's song which he had never heard before but knew instinctively what it was. He saw Viggo striding ahead and a slight frown touched the edges of his wonder. He sprang lightly to his side.

"What happened with the orc?" he asked lightly enough. He remembered how hesitant Viggo had seemed at first, reluctant to take even the life of such a twisted creature. Then how Vig's eyes had suddenly gone flat - like someone had flicked a switch - and he'd run the thing through.

Orlando could clearly see the moment: there had been something driven and dangerous in his friend's eyes. And then again, just as suddenly, the possession had past and Viggo had fallen to his feet, bewildered.

Viggo returned his gaze inscrutably but just for a second the elf saw pure terror in the man's eye.

"I am not sure I could have killed it," he tried again, touching the man's shoulder in comfort, feeling the other tense athis touch.

"What did you expect me to do, Orlando, swap knitting patterns with it?"Orlando searched his gaze in confusion. Their `relationship' - nice casual word that - had always been tempestuous but he'd never had problems understanding him. He couldn't read him any more.

"Then what has frightened you, Vig? For you are frightened."

"Nothing. I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, what could possibly be wrong?"

"I'm tired of your word games, Viggo."

"And I'm tired with you sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong. Go talk to Boromir - "

"He has a real name - "

" - If you want to try the amateur psychology. He's more receptive to elven charms. Apparently."

Elijah caught Ian up. The knight slowed his pace to the shorter gait of the Hobbit - and suppressed a shiver as that thought sunk in: the shorter gait of the Hobbit. They weren't fooling around, this wasn't the filming of a scene with clever trickery to disguise height differences - this was reality.

"Ian, I'm worried."

"Tell me." His brain told him where Elijah should be in relation to his own height and he had to keep adjusting his gaze to compensate for the change in stature which his brain still had not accepted. It must be doubly difficult for the Hobbits.

"I don't know who I am anymore. I know I have a mother and father, that I live in LA and that my name is Elijah Wood. I know I was filming a production of Lord of the Rings and I know you are Ian McKellan. I swear, I bite my nails, I smoke - if I have any cigarettes. I don't want to be Frodo!"

Ian wrapped a comforting arm round him as they continued up the hill.

"But I am Frodo. And I am carrying the greatest evil the world - this world - has ever known. It's singing to me, Ian, I can hear it all the time. Calling to me, telling me to put it on, to claim the
dark throne. Terrible things."

"My dear boy, I'm so sorry."

"I don't have Frodo's strength."

"I think you do."

"Gandalf chose Frodo to carry the ring, right?"

"Yes. Gandalf, immortal and powerful, fearful to take the Ring himself lest it corrupt him and yet he had faith in a small Hobbit to bear it."

"Gandalf chose Frodo, but would you seriously choose me?"

"You say you are not strong enough yet you have exhibited amazing courage in your life so far."

Elijah snorted. "Just call me Spiderman."

"I'm not talking about saving kittens from burning buildings. I'm talking about inner strength. You were brought up in the very heart of Hollywood, a child star forced to grow up amid the false adulation and transient worship of a very sick industry. Yet you remain happily untouched by its excesses. That shows great strength of character, Lij. You know who you are, you fit your own skin comfortably."

Elijah couldn't help but smile at such a glowing report. "There's a difference between living in our world and taking an evil Ring to Mordor."

"It's still a question of inner character. You share qualities with Frodo - if you didn't Peter would never have cast you and, frankly, you wouldn't be pattering along beside me now. You'd be safely on set with our dear friend John." Ian shot him a penetrating glance.

"Believe in yourself, Lij, for all of our sakes, believe in yourself."

"So if Middle Earth, its history and characters really exist, we know what to do," Sean said as they huddled round their campfire that evening. "We know the story's plot - those of us who have bothered to read it, that is."

He poked Lij with his foot - who stuck his tongue out at him. "WE avoid the icky things, Lij and I find our way to Mount Doom, you lot muster your army - and we destroy the Ring. Bing, bam, boom."

"But that's just it," Beanie said. He'd seemed quiet all day, brooding. "Which bits do we leave out? Each action has a reaction."

"Yeah, it's because Pippin and Merry are captured by the orcs that they rouse the Ents," Billy said.

"Now I'd rather avoid the orcs, thank you, but if we do, does that mean we won't meet Treebeard? And if we don't meet Treebeard, will Saruman not fall?"

Ian puffed on Gandalf's pipe. "The orc attack was not mentioned in the book."

"True but if you're writing a story, you don't include every scuffle, mundane happening and line of dialogue."

"Perhaps we have to keep to the main events," Dom suggested, "but not follow every single plot point - which brings us back to Billy's point. How much can we play about with or modify main elements? Must we go through the Mines, must we rouse Theoden or tame Gollum?"

Sean Bean was staring at his shoes. "Must I die?"

The fellowship had been vocal and determined in their response to Beanie's question. They'd sworn oaths of undying support, pledged themselves to him, denied vehemently that Boromir's death necessarily meant his. They tried too hard. Only Ian kept silent, watching him with a hurt look in his eyes.

As soon as he could, without guaranteeing a train of Hobbits following him with their sincerely held convictions, Beanie slipped away from camp, wandered through the craggy country, following a small bubbling stream - the last thing he wanted was to get lost. It came as no susprise when he heard Orlando call his name and saw the elf approaching. He could hear Orlando humming, something the elf had been doing incessantly since his transformation.

"Did you track me?" he asked.

"No, the birds told me you were here." Orlando replied, a look of awe on his face. "They are glad the elves have returned to this place."

Beanie rolled his eyes. "Right. You're singing again."

The other offered an apologetic smile but his eyes were far away.

"It is strange to me and yet wondrous. I feel like I am steeped in the history of the elvish people and yet I have no memory of my own life. I know how it feels to walk under bough and twig and yet I have never seen Greenwood the Great with these eyes." Beanie wasn't sure what to say to that - he was a straight forward Yorkshireman who was uncomfortable with romantic sentiment. It was disorientating seeing his friend so changed. Little of the old Orli
remained, the playfulness, the daredevil stunts and cheery optimism. And yet there was something very compelling about the elf, something almost sensual. Orlando was regarding him quietly, patient and confident as though he knew his inner turmoil and was undismayed by it.

"Hey, elf boy?"

"Yes, mortal?" Orlando lifted that finely sculpted eyebrow but the eyes were alight with mischief.Perhaps things weren't as different as he'd thought. Beanie paused, not quite sure what to say, only feeling that there was something important here. Orlando caught his hand and he stared at the two: his own large paw, rough and calloused with little grazes, freckles and blue veins and Orlando's lightly tanned hand, so graceful, free of any blemish.

"I know ... I know, you can't help what happened. And I know it must be every fantasy come true to turn into an elf but ..." He trailed off, the words sticking in his throat.

"What?"

"Don't lose who you are. Please."

Orlando frowned curiously at the man's intensity, some of the elven surety shaken.

"I won't."

The other grabbed his arm savagely, gripped the lower forearm.

"I need you to be Orlando not Legolas. I need you so much!"

Elves had little understanding of transient emotions like fear and anger and happiness. Their lives stretched for centuries and they lived as much in the past as the present, the days becoming one - and yet each day as memorable as the seasons. But they did understand grief and tragedy and the deep yearning for lost opportunities. And like leaves falling, heralding the approach of winter, he suddenly saw Beanie in a month's time, dying alone and in anguish. He leaned forward and kissed him, smelling the human tang of sweat.

"Let me tell you about hope, my love," he whispered.

"For there is little hope in your eyes." He touched the man's chest with a tender hand, felt rather than heard the rudely beating heart. Sean stared at him.

"I'm going to die," he whispered.

"No. You won't share Boromir's fate."

"Won't I? How can we be sure? I ... sense the Ring, Orli. It taunts me. I may not be strong enough to resist it."

Orlando stroked the palms of his hands, it was a curiously arousing yet tender action.

"It taunts us all. Believe in yourself - as I do." He met Sean's gaze, repeated, "Let me tell you about hope."

"Don't. I don't need your pity."

"This is not pity." He leaned in again, breathed against his mouth,

"Aniron."

"What?"

"I desire - I desire you, Sean."

Something seemed to snap and Sean shoved the elf away. Had he been human the force would have sent him to the ground but his elven heritage gave him his balance.

"No, you don't. It's that bloody body you're in. Weren't you listening to what I said just now, Orli? I don't want an elf!"

"I see the way you look at me."

"I admit it - elves turn me on. Elves turn every Man on probably. I wouldn't be surprised if they didn't turn on the Archbishop of Canterbury."

"Then what is the problem, dear one?"

Sean wrapped his arms round his own body, wretched.

"I....I want you, Orli."

Orlando took his hands again and gently tugged him down until they were sitting on the tangled grass.

"Then have him." He leaned close and again kissed the man, trying with all his heart to convey his love - Orlando's love - for him.

Sean stroked back his soft silken hair, torn.

"You never - on the set, you never made advances."

Orlando stared at him then gave a hooting laugh, an unelvish laugh, anOrlando laugh. "Advances? You make me sound like your maiden aunt, Seanie. No I never made advances. I wanted to but I just didn't have the confidence."

"Now you do?"

"Obviously." Orlando kissed him again and this time he opened his mouth, let him in. His future haunted him but, for tonight, held in the arms of a strange elven creature, he could forget.

They had taken four days to follow the Misty Mountains, growing closertogether, relying on each other's strengths, and now they had to decide, just as their counterparts had, which path to take them over the mountains.They all knew the alternatives: the gap of Rohan, Caradhras or the Mines of Moria. They were still arguing back and forth when the first sound drifted through the gathering snow on the crisp morning air.

"What was that?" Sean whispered, feeling for his sword. A few seconds later the noise repeated, closer, clearer.

"I would have thought that was obvious, Master Sean," Viggo said as calmly as Aragorn, "Wargs."

"Of course," Orlando said, "in the book it is the wolves that drive them to take Moria."

"Let us get out of here before we need test our strength against them." Beanie's sword glittered in the snow's reflections. Hurriedly the company hoisted their kits. No-one was willing to try their new- found character skills against the evil-sounding brutes.

The next hour was frightful. The snow deafened sound and refracted light strangely. Time and again one or the other saw a wolf shape hunkered down in the snow ready to pounce only to discover it was an ill-formed snowdrift. They couldn't tell which direction the wolves were coming from and even the elf's sense deserted him. They were edgy and jumpy, trying to look in all directions. Only Viggo remained icily calm. Elijah, clutching Sting tightly as he walked as close as he could to the solid comforting presence that was Sean, thought about this as a way of relieving the terror: Viggo, as he himself had said, had always been the most willing to launch himself into his part. It was no joke that he needed to be dragged off set at the end of shooting and spent every moment he could practising with his sword. The similarities between the two was unnerving, they were both broody, glowering, isolated but noble and gentle too. Looking at him, Elijah thought, he saw as much the kingly Aragorn as the actor Viggo, the union between the two was so great.

For the rest, no-one held any great hopes in their skill with their weapons. Viggo had been practising hard with the sword master on set at every turn and the others had spent six weeks in preparation, learning the basics. But their fantasy, Elijah thought wryly, was now the reality and no-one knew how skilled they were when it came to the test. As he crept on, hearing the wolves appear to draw closer, Elijah wasn't even sure if he could kill. It was one thing to mess around with the other actors and learn the carefully orchestrated moves in a co-ordinated scene, it was quite another to defend yourself and ultimately kill another creature.

They were going at a fearful pace now, Viggo some way ahead, Orlando protectively on point, the Hobbits gathered close to the wizard and Beanie bringing up the rear, his eyes swivelling everywhere. Elijah could hear Ian puffing and wheezing as they half jogged on; the old man's face was sweat soaked and contorted into a grimace of pain and he was clutching his chest. If they carried on at this pace, Ian could die of a heart attack.

Suddenly a black shadow appeared directly in front. Elijah had the impression of dark fur then the thing was on him. The Ring jerked in his pocket. His mind surged with anger and all he could think about, irrationally, was that the foul creature wanted the Ring. He wrenched the brute off himself and thrust Sting deep into its vitals, delighting in its shrill squeal of pain. The Ring purred and Elijah coldly twisted the sword in deeper. He smiled an almost feral smile as he looked at he puny body of his fallen enemy. He tugged at the Ring in his pocket, felt its comforting weight and almost crooned to it in reassurance - then, as though someone had dashed cold water in his face, he realised what he was doing. He dropped the Ring back into his pocket with a gasp of repugnance.

There was no time to let the incident sink in because now lean bodies were all over. Elijah found himself in a circle with his three Hobbit friends, warding off wolves with Sting and a club of wood. Orlando's bow was singing and, though his marksmanship was nowhere near the accuracy of his counterpart, he was managing to hit most of his targets.

"Build a fire!" Ian barked. The old man, incongruous in that absurd hat, was wielding Glamdring with some skill, Beanie was standing back to back with him parrying and thrusting, using his shield as much as his sword to stun the great brutes. Sensing their swordsmanship was not necessary, the Hobbits quickly stacked firewood, keeping a sharp eye out for attacking wolves. Dom pulled out his tinderbox and attempted to strike a spark. Time and again the little spark
vanished harmlessly in the afternoon air. Elijah shuffled trying not to appear impatient. Dom swore a very British curse as the spark he had at last managed to capture on the dry rags fizzled to nothing.

"Oh give it here!" Billy growled and yanked the tinderbox from his friend. Again and again he struck frenziedly. Eventually the spark caught and, carefully the Hobbits transferred the rags to the kindling, cautiously adding twigs until they had the required blaze going. Elijah looked to see how his companions were faring. Viggo could be seen, standing like a colossus swinging his great sword, his face as cold as the snow. Beanie and Ian (who had lost his hat) were tiring fast for sword fighting was a tremendously physical sport.

"Where's Orli?" Elijah screamed at the Yorkshireman. Beanie wiped the sweat from his face then he whirled round. Orlando was nowhere to be seen. Before anyone could stop him, Beanie went charging through the wolves, fiery brands in hand, his sheer size and velocity knocking his enemy aside. Billy gave a yell. A few moments later Beanie came towards them trying to support the elf while simultaneously evading the wolves.

The Hobbits leapt to their comrades' side brandishing their own torches. The young elf was gasping for breath and holding his side as he tried to explain what had happened - apparently he had run out of arrows and his momentary hesitation at using his elvish knives had been enough for a Warg to bear him to the ground. Something seemed to turn to ice inside Elijah. He stopped being afraid of the wolves.

He helped Beanie make Orlando comfortable by the fire then ordered the other Hobbits to form a protective ring round their friends. He threw a flaming brand at one wolf and, seeing its terrified reaction, they were soon all doing it, driving them back, aiming at the thick fur which soon kindled and had the great beasts whimpering and howling round the glade, setting each other on fire in the process. With a small jump, Elijah realised that it was the same technique Tolkein had used in the Hobbit. This time, thankfully, there was no bloodlust in his mind, just a gritty determination to do what was necessary. He decided to put the uncomfortable incident with the first Warg from his mind. Fewer wolves now could be seen and they looked hesitant and unsure. Beanie blew the great horn of Gondor and the strange sound sent what was left of them fleeing away.

Elijah collapsed in a heap, hugging Sean tightly, tears streaming down his face as the adrenalin overload kicked in. Then they were crawling to Orlando's side. He was pale in the sunlight, his breath catching but he managed a smile at their concern.

"I'm all right." He saw the various looks of cynicism and tried again.

"Really. I'm an elf, our recuperative abilities are far superior to yours. Let me get my breath back - I'll be fine."

"Here, get this down you," Ian said, his eyes very penetrating as he passed the murovir. With Beanie offering support, Orlando was able to sip the elvish cordial. The colour seemed to return to flush his cheeks and, apart from the careful breathing, he seemed fit enough.

**4**

The fight had made them tearful and shaky but no-one wished to linger once Orlando proved he could hobble along with Beanie's support. Ian said that he could understand snatches of the wargs' terrible language and that they were gathering for a renewed attack - bringing goblins with them. With that knowledge driving them on, the fellowship, harassed and terrified, chose to forget the dangers they knew lay ahead in Moria: to them the dark forbidding Mines were a haven of peace and security after the terror of the wolves.

That fraught afternoon they stumbled this way and that as they tried to find the entrance, listening for the sound of wolves. Only Ian had a clear memory of the book and he couldn't remember exactly how the company came upon the Mines so Viggo volunteered to scout ahead while the others rested in a secluded glade of holly trees. He returned, almost smiling.

"The Doors are just ahead," he told the relieved company, "About a mile or so."

Beanie breathed a sigh of relief and rubbed his cold nose against Orlando's cheek as he settled them to the ground.

"What happens now, Ian?" Billy asked, weariness written into every etch of his face. The old man, drinking wearily from their dwindling supply of water, appeared to think deeply. "The Watcher in the Water," he muttered to himself. The old knight cast a glance in Elijah's direction, read the fear there and gripped his small hand. "I think we should avoid contact with it if at all possible."

"Good call," Dom muttered.

"We'll rest here for a while. The wolves will not dare venture so close to the Watcher. We need to prepare for the Mines anyway." Ian paused and glanced over at Orlando and Beanie.

"You two, stay here and rest - no arguments, Master Bloom. The rest of you, make yourselves useful. We need firewood - I think, in the book, it is Boromir's idea to take some with them and I intend to act upon his very sensible advice - water and fresh game if possible."

The 4 Hobbits, with Ian as their guard, wandered off to search for water. In the last few days they had learned more than they had ever wanted to learn about the Great Outdoors. They had helped Viggo run his traps each evening when they set camp and checked them the next morning. Dom remembered the first rabbit; it had still been alive, the wire cutting into its neck but it had squealed at his approach and had frenziedly tried to escape, flinging its body this way and that, choking itself more. He'd killed it clumsily and then had bolted off to be sick. They followed Vig's advice and soon found a small rill slishing and sloshing its way down from the mountains. Sean touched the icy cold water wonderingly, tasted it.

"Christ and I thought Evian was pure. Oh man!"

Ian parked himself on a nearby stone and watched the four childlike figures paddle. They were all giggling and laughing, splashing each other like they didn't have a care in the world, but Ian didn't miss the look of wistfulness in Elijah's eyes.

"Well I don't know about you, but I'm gonna have a bath," Dom announced. "The water's fairly deep and I stink."

"I wasn't gonna say anything but aye you do," Billy grinned.

"Not as much as you. You have the fragrance of a sewer." Dom had grabbed his soap and was wading towards a bend in the stream where the water gathered deeper before sloshing down a tiny dam. "You coming? I'm gonna wash my clothes too."

Billy waded after him eagerly but at Elijah's hesitation, Sean waved them on.

"What?" he asked.

"Aren't you coming?"

"You go."

"Not without you, Mister Elijah, sir."

Elijah didn't smile; he was staring at his feet. Sean exchanged a glance with Ian who wasn't helping much in his opinion and then flung himself down next to his friend. He paddled his feet in the water, giving Elijah time.

"I ... I don't want to see what I've lost," the young man murmured after a long silence. Sean'd seen Elijah Wood angry, peevish, drunk, depressed, guilt-ridden, frightened, embarrassed and so happy that he'd been practically bouncing. He'd never seen him grief-stricken, so forlorn and overwhelmed as now. He sighed and pulled him unresisting into his arms.

"Yeah." He tousled the rich curls. "I know."

They stayed like that for a long time, Elijah snuggled close, wetting his shirt with tears but making no sound in his misery. Ian sat on his rock and watched with compassion but didn't interfere.

"We're gonna make it home, baby," Sean said at length. Elijah clutched at him tighter but didn't reply.

"Hey, you remember that sci-fi show with Scott Bakula?" Elijah mumbled, "'Enterprise'?"

"Nah, the one in the eighties. Oh no I forgot you were still at nursery. It was called 'Quantum Leap'. He went leaping back through his own timeline righting wrongs and being heroic. But each Leap, he always wished it was the Leap home." He paused, suddenly remembering how badly the series had ended and thinking what a stupid analogy this was. "We'll Leap home."

Elijah blew noisily into his handkerchief - no disposable tissues in Middle-Earth - and managed to meet Sean's gaze. There was a deep- seated melancholy in his eyes, a profound suffering.

"Come on," Sean whispered kissing the pale forehead, "Let's go bathe."

Elijah nodded. He allowed Sean to pull him to his feet but he wouldn't let go of his hand. The two undressed, Elijah hesitant and shy, Sean trying to exude confidence. He cast an annoyed glance at Ian but the old man returned his glare with studied innocence. Sean waded into the water, Elijah following, his chin sunk down low on his chest.

Elijah looked like a miniature version of his past self: pale, slender and innocent-looking. The only difference was the ears and feet. Sean cast a glance at himself and saw his own body was unchanged too.

"I think you look kinda cute," he tried. Elijah was standing in the water to his waist but he was making no attempt to wash himself.

Sean waded closer. "Here, this is called soap and we wash with it."

He worked at the marble-like soap furiously, only managing to produce a few listless suds. He grabbed Elijah closer, spun him round, and began scrubbing at his back. Elijah cringed but allowed the contact. Sean kept up a steady stream of nonsense as he worked.

"Okay," he said once he'd finished with the pale back, "My turn." He pressed the soap into Elijah's hand and presented his back. There was a pause then Elijah sighed rather shakily and began soaping him down.

As his friend scrubbed at relentless dirt, Sean fell to thinking about his own reaction. His shrunken size had frightened the life out of him at first but seeing Elijah so crumpled and caved in had kick-started his survival instinct and forced him to be the strong one. He took the soap from his friend, pleased to see that Elijah was looking more animated. He again attacked the soap which co-operated no more than before and began on Elijah's front. He traced gentle fingers across the red weal of the Nazgul wound.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

Elijah snorted, sounding more himself. "Like the fucking devil."

"Aren't there any ... herbs or stuff you can take?" A glare. Much better.

"What am I, a pharmacist?"

"We'll check with old greybeard over there later."

They carried on the mutual grooming - as Sean called it wryly in his head - until their torsos were as clean as they were going to be after five days of sweat and toil. Sean hesitated not wanting to invade Elijah's privacy.

Elijah gazed at him, his glorious eyes very luminous. Sean offered him the soap but the other shook his head, blushing and ashamed. Sean sighed.

"It's still your body."

"I'm a freak!"

"Then I am too." He grabbed Elijah's chin, titled up until those eyes met his; there was shame there but also rebellion. Good. "But this is the way it is right now, Lij, so deal."

Elijah made a rather rude gesture and repeated one of Orli's favourite swear words.

"Cunt."

Sean slapped the soap into his hand.

"You can either wash yourself or I'll assist."

The other glared murder at him but did as he was told. Sean took the soap from him and washed himself. It was starting to get cold. He took Lij's hand and led him to where their spare clothes were waiting. They used an old piece of sacking to dry themselves and shrugged into the clean clothes with sincere gratitude. Ian, Sean noticed, was not on his rock. He slapped Elijah's shoulder and the other smiled at him. There were still shadows in his eyes but he looked calmer. Sean touched a stray curl, gently pushed it back.

"Hey."

"All right, " Lij assayed a grin. "I'm dealing."

"Good." He grabbed hold of the other and pulled him into a fierce possessive bear hug, feeling Elijah melt against him.

"You can't keep things bottled up, baby, okay? Not here, not anymore."

"Hmmm." Elijah was sniffling again but Sean sensed the tears were cathartic now.

"Go ahead. Let go." He wrapped his arms round him tightly, finding his own eyes filling. Elijah raised his head, touched the tear rolling down his cheek. It seemed to release all the pain and soon he was sobbing, great wracking sobs of first anger then grief then finally acceptance.

Eventually Elijah raised his head.

"You look like hell," he said.

"Charming. You want to take another bath - fully clothed?" Elijah hauled himself to his feet, held out his hand to Sean. The other regarded it suspiciously because there was just the faintest smirk on Lij's face. He'd seen that smirk too many times on set where it usually heralded a shower of talc or joke soap in his trailer. He accepted the hand and fell over as expected when Elijah let go.

Beanie watched the others depart. He closed his eyes, wishing for a good stiff pint of Boddington's beer. Orlando was standing a little way off, under the canopy of a large tree. He was singing again. Did the elf never shut up?

"How are you feeling?" he asked after a pause. Orlando took a moment to focus on his words.

"I am better, Seanie. Elves heal quickly."

"Lucky them," Beanie muttered darkly. "Here, give us a look. I don't want Sir Ian peeling my skin off in long strips if you don't make it or something."

"Very well." Orlando slipped off his tunic and shirt. His torso wasstrongly muscled yet lean; he'd always had a pleasing physique which archery lessons had enhanced but now he looked like some kind of Greek god. He had to swallow hard. To rein in his thoughts, Beanie decided to concentrate on the wound. The Warg had sank its teeth into his flesh just below his ribcage. The area was multicoloured with bruises but already the angry red gash had begun to heal over.

Beanie sloshed water into a bowl and carefully washed the wound, muttering about infection and how unbecoming to an elf it would be if Orli caught a fever and mussed up his hair. Orlando laughed his old laugh and Beanie relaxed. The smell of the elf was intoxicating, his hair, his skin. And the feel of the silken skin - it was a sweet torture for him. Orlando wasn't helping matters either, his eyes very direct and triumphant.

"Bloody hell," Beanie said falling back on his favourite epiphet.

"The others will be some time - we can play doctors and nurses all you like." Orlando pulled him down to lie next to him and began stripping off his shirt. Beanie groaned; he had never wanted this so much. The elf had found his way to bare flesh. He paused to admire the manly chest with the coarse hair that no elf sported and tasted the pink nipple gently. He was rewarded by Beanie's soft moan. He transferred his attentions to the other nipple, sucking more determinedly now. He tasted so good.

"Tell me what you want," he said, surprised at how steady his voice sounded. His lover groaned in agony.

"You have to ask? Hell, Orli, do it!"

The elf smiled serenely despite his arousal and stood up. Beanie whimpered a little and his eyes were wild. Orli kept his gaze transfixed while slowly provocatively he undressed, sliding out of the tight leggings.

Beanie swallowed again. The westering sun played hot and rose pink on the fair elven skin. He climbed somewhat unsteadily to stand next to this unearthly creature, stroking wondering hands over his lover's chest muscles, delighting in the contrast of hard muscles and soft skin. Orlando accepted the attention docilely, his glorious eyes heavy-lidded. Beanie tugged at his own leather breeches and the elf helped him. Soon they were both naked.

"What if someone comes back and sees us like this?" Orli mumbled, as he nipped and teased at Beanie's lips.

"We'll tell them I'm examining you."

They sank to the ground, Orlando sitting astride the other. He encouraged Beanie to open his legs, stroked the length of him with curious fingers.

Beanie spilled the elf's fine hair through his fingers and wondered ifheaven felt this good. Orlando licked across his lips, still calm andpatient, only his eyes, alight with the old mischief, indicating just how aroused and needy he was. In disbelief the man heard the familiar sound of Orli's singing. He tasted his chest again before moving down to tongue his firm belly, darting into his navel and suckling hungrily at his pelvic bone. Beanie groaned again and thrust with his hips. Orli smiled wickedly.

"So eager, human?"

"When I get my hands on you, master elf, I'm gonna have you howling in need, I promise you! Ah Orli, c'mon!"

The elf settled on top of him, his own straining erection meeting Beanie's. Both groaned as they found a natural rhythm, touching each other, kissing, never letting go. And all the while, Orli's effortless singing harmonised with their lovemaking, until the crescendo of song ended with ecstatic cries and the bliss of fulfillment.

Eventually Beanie came aware of the birds singing. He breathed deeply, smiled affectionately at his lover.

"You should get hurt more often," he said and there was absolutely nothing elven in the rich laugh that erupted from Orlando's mouth........

**5**

They approached the stinking pool outside the gates of Moria as dusk fell. Elijah crouched as close to his friends as he could. Even without foreknowledge of the book he knew this place, this fetid pool, was evil and that the Ring was drawn to it.

Fear was like a cold knot in his belly. He'd never experienced real terror until today. He'd seen a few muggings and once had been in a store at the time of an armed robbery but it had happened so quickly that his impressions were vague - he remembered his mother's hysterical response to the incident and his own bravado in giving his report to the police more than the robbery itself. Today, however, he had met death.

The Ring was singing to Elijah, the evil song of a Siren and it made his head spin. Without realising what he was doing, he fingered the Ring, feeling its weight and coldness. In his mind's eye, he could see the first warg and, behind it, a huge lidless eye made of flames. *Ash nazg durbatuluk*

Slowly, almost of its own accord the Ring began to slip onto his finger. It felt like falling asleep - until Sean dug him hard in the ribs and the Ring fell heavily onto the gravel.

Ian was speaking. "We must be cautious not to rouse the Watcher. In the book the creature is awoken by the company throwing stones into the pool. Let us, therefore, creep around it in silence." He stood up and gripped Glamdring more tightly. "I will go first. Stay here, away from the pool. Once I have opened the door, come round." Elijah grabbed Ian's hand in terror for the old man but he smiled and gently pushed himself past.

It seemed the longest walk of his life, Ian thought. He attempted to skirt the foul pool keeping as much distance between himself and it as possible but he was aware of his abnormally loud breathing and the painful thud of his heart. A stone skittered under his feet and splashed in the water. All the company froze but the surface remained still.

With a deep intake of breath, Ian walked on, forcing his feet to tread more carefully. The door was before him. He could see very faint outlines of the designs on the portals but they certainly weren't illuminated. Perhaps that was just a technique of the film; he had no intention of mulling the thought over further. Raising his staff, he cleared his throat nervously and whispered "Mellon!" Nothing happened.

He cast a nervous glance at the water and then at the assembled company. Perhaps he needed to say it louder. Three times he tried at various volumes but the door remained stuck. He heard a slight noise and whirled, his sword ready - it was Viggo. Glaring at him, and thinking various nasty ways he was going to kill him later for so frightening him, he whispered his report.

"Try again." Viggo suggested tersely.

He did.

Viggo did.

Nothing.

Viggo tried different accents and pronunciations, he even waved his arms about, but still nothing.

"Are you sure it's `mellon'?" Viggo asked somewhat peevishly, his dark eyes scanning the elvish script which might as well have been Klingon to him.

"Perhaps it's `orange' or `lemon'!" Ian spat back. He leaned back and again read the script but it was exactly as it had appeared both in the book and the film. Then Ian remembered; he almost started laughing.

He was just about to explain about the moonlight when the surface of the water rippled. Elijah jumped up at the same moment and cried for everyone to get across. The four Hobbits, Beanie and Orlando fled round, all eyes on the water. It was rippling, little waves lapping at their feet. Something was stirring. Elijah felt the Ring go heavy and pull at the stitches of his pocket.

"Ian, for God's sake!" he wailed.

"Wait! Quiet!" Ian pulled them all behind some stones which offered a little protection.

"We have to wait for moonlight - the doors are activated by moonlight." Every head turned to regard the sky. Night had fallen but moonrise was some time off. Terrified the company huddled behind their scant protection, cornered.

"We should get back to the glade," Viggo whispered but Orlando shook his head.

"No, we must wait here. It will sense us if we move again."

"Be quiet, both of you!" Ian snapped. He was berating himself for his stupidity: if anything happened now, they were effectively trapped.

The minutes ticked by. They could hear their own laboured breathing and every now and then a ripple would shimmer across the water. The Ring roared its song in Elijah's ears and every breath hurt. Then gracefully, above the troubles of such mortals, the Moon arose majestically. The door became illuminated and, despite their terror, the eight actors looked in amazed awe at the beauty before them.

Elijah had almost convinced himself that the Watcher would attack, that predestination would kick in despite their care and avoidance strategy - so it was somewhat of an anticlimax when Ian spoke the password and the great doors opened without any hideous sea monster spewing forth out of the water, its tentacles flailing. The rest of the company trotted inside but he stayed where he was dizzy and disorientated by the Ring. He gasped as something grabbed his cloak but it was only Viggo frogmarching him to safety. As the graceful doors closed behind him, Elijah stared in disbelief. "We made it," he said somewhat redundantly.

They didn't need Gimli to point out the dead corpses - the stench was good enough for that. Ian pulled them together and gave them all a sip of murovir. They had lit no light so far, all was in shadow; only a few shafts of moonlight hitting the odd stair or carven pillar illuminated the gloom. No-one dared speak in anything above a whisper as they held a hasty, furtive conference. The Watcher had honed their survival instincts and resolve shone in all their faces. Not even a week had past since they had found themselves in this strange predicament but already they had drawn closer. Tersely Ian commanded them to position themselves as they had been in the book for the long walk.

"How long will we be stuck in this place?" Billy asked, looking absuredly young in Pippin's hair.

"In the script it's 4 days but according to the book it is nearly two weeks."

"And the orcs?"

Ian seemed deep in his own thoughts, and not pleasant ones either. "They are in the eastern section. If we are quiet and you, Master Billy, do not throw any stones or skeletons down any shafts, we should get through undetected." There was a strange sorrowing gleam in his eye - then he hauled himself to his feet and indicated for the brands to be lit. He stared at his staff for a moment as though puzzling it out. It had no convenient battery pack to illuminate the perspex bulb and, search his Gandalf persona though he did, Ian could think of no spell to utter. Orlando slapped his shoulder in understanding and they set off.

Ian crept forward, his burning torch held aloft. It cast evil smoky shadows and he wondered darkly if Gollum was somewhere watching them with his pale ghostlike eyes. They climbed stairs and passed through long-silent passages but not a thing stirred except the dust. Hours and hours they walked and they had been weary already from the wolf attack that morning. Elijah could hardly put one foot in front of the other and he stumbled continually. Sean moved to his side and he was inordinately grateful when the other took his hand, offering him silent support.

Eventually Ian called a halt and the eight cast themselves down thankfully.

"Remind me to thank Peter for a lovely holiday," Dom moaned, rubbing sore feet. Hobbit feet had hard soles but they were just as vulnerable to blisters as human feet.

"How far have we come?" Sean asked.

Viggo shrugged.

"Two, maybe three miles, all uphill. If we continue this pace, we can add days to our journey, Ian. The company were much fitter than we are."

"Still we must rest," Orlando said and the others agreed. Dom was holding Billy close, the young man almost weeping in fatigue and anguish.

"We have another problem. Gandalf knew where he was going - vaguely - I haven't the faintest."

"What?!" Beanie screamed then held up his hand in apology, both for the volume and the criticism.

"I can feel Aragorn inside me," Viggo said.

Ian shook his head, weariness evident in every line.

"Then you are fortunate. I have a great store of wisdom to draw on but I cannot access any of Gandalf's memory or indeed his magic. I am too weary."

"That settles it," Sean said, bustling to his feet, "We pass the night here - it must be well past midnight by now. Come on Lij, over here where you'll be more comfortable."

They fitted the torches in the brackets and curled up as best they could. Viggo and Dom volunteered for first watch and the company let them, thinking two sentries were better than one in this dismal place. No-one felt the love of the dwarves for this half-sunk dungeon - it was dark, dank and devoid of light. They all felt they were slowly suffocating to death.

Sean busied himself making supper - cold bacon, cheese, and bread - and then helped Elijah get comfortable on the stone floor. Elijah shoved him in the ribs. "I'm not Frodo, Sean, you don't need to mother me," he whispered but nevertheless he spooned himself against his friend's broad back to sleep.

The night progressed. Elijah managed to sleep for a few brief snatches but the Ring kept waking him. He could feel it, a heavy weight round his neck (for he had removed it from his pocket) which sometimes felt like it was choking him. Its song continued throwing sick images into his mind, taunting him and over and again he saw the lidless eye wreathed in fire. He thought again about that first wolf and what the Ring had driven him to do. His own weakness and submission to its will was frightening.

 

The company was roused by Dom and Billy who had laid out breakfast. Elijah felt woolly and sick from lack of sleep and pulled muscles. He went off to the lower landing to relieve himself, thinking how disgusting this travelling lark was. He missed deodorant and a soft bed and a good curry. Ian regarded him soberly upon his return. "How did you sleep, Lij?"

"Badly. Frodo did not exaggerate the Burden." He felt weak and dizzy and overwhelmed. He rubbed at the Nazgul wound which burned like fire.

The old blue eyes beneath the shaggy eyebrows seemed to regard him for a moment as though reading his every anxious thought. Again he felt the awful conviction that he wasn't good enough for this quest, that he would fail. He remembered what Galadriel had said would happen if she claimed the Ring and he wondered what evil would befall this land if he wasn't strong enough to keep resisting.

He heard Ian repeating his name and snatched his attention back. Ian was rooting through his pack, muttering to himself. Elijah plonked himself next to his friend feeling comforted by his implacable nature.

"Ah! Here we are!" He held up the small jar of yellow paste as though he had discovered penicillin.

"You must be very proud" Elijah said, wondering if Ian's mind was going.

"Herbs," Ian announced with the air of a witchdoctor. "Come, my boy, let's see what we can do about that shoulder. Shirt off."

Elijah complied, shrugging out of the homespun garment. Ian smiled at the glinting mithril beneath. Unlike the ridiculous prop in the film, the real thing looked more like a stiff silk than a mailshirt. It shone with the radiance of the moon even in the poor torchlight. He slid it off carefully and lay down on the blankets Ian had readied.

The old wizard gently probed the wound, his expression compassionate. Then he applied the yellow gunk to the area and Elijah sighed as the stuff effectively numbed the pain. Ian twinkled at him and helped him get dressed. As Elijah carefully shrugged into his shirt, he noticed Sean drinking in every move he made.

Ian used the time during their long march to ponder the way. He closed his eyes, emptied his mind of everything (especially the pervasive fear) and concentrated on Gandalf's memories which appeared to be hidden at the back of his mind. But it was no good; he could feel the memories there, lurking just out of reach. He got wearily to his feet. Perhaps if he put the problem from his mind he would remember - like recollecting those words that were on the tip of your tongue.

The company moved off. The stairs led in only one direction so far and, despite their groans and moans, they were all eager to set a good pace in order to leave this unsettling place behind. Ian allowed them only a ten minute break midmorning and half an hour at lunch time when they ate more cheese and the last of the bread. Talk was desultory but the bonds of friendship were strong.

At last they came to a junction. Ian took a deep breath but, when the test came, it was an easy one. Something clicked inside his head and he pointed confidently to the left. So much, he thought, for Gandalf's memory and wisdom - will the magic pour forth in such a fashion? It wasn't a particularly encouraging thought.

They could not know the hour but, by general consensus, they supposed it to be late evening when Ian called a halt. Viggo estimated they had travelled perhaps fifteen miles or so that day; a good march for unfit men, a hard slog for the Hobbits with their smaller legs. The company made camp for the evening, talking quietly, no-one ready to turn in yet despite the fatigue.

There had been no sign of any living creature all day, no footprint in the dust or carrying sound. It made them more confident, setting only one guard - Beanie. Dom and Billy curled up on their blankets talking quietly while Sean, at the wizard's suggestion, took Elijah off for another application of the magic yellow gunk. Ian sat a little to the side, his gnarled hands wrapped round his wizard staff, his brow creased in brooding thought.

Viggo hunkered down next to Orlando, surprising the elf for his friend had avoided his company - especially since his relationship with Beanie had become apparent.

"So tell me, what is it like to be an elf?" Orlando remembered how they had joked about this, how Viggo had teased him about his pretty-boy hair never out of place, how he had retorted that at least he was immortal - but there was no humour in Viggo's eyes, only a slight wistfulness. Perhaps Viggo was ready to talk about his fears now, certainly Orlando could read no defensiveness in his body language.

"Strange. I feel no weariness at all, even after all these miles. My wound has healed completely, there is not even a bruise or mark yet it was only yesterday. And every sense is alive." He regarded the other quizzically.

"I can count your pulse beat and can hear every word Sean is saying to Lij." He paused as though sensing the answer might not be to his liking.

"What of the noble Aragorn? Still not king?"

Viggo contemplated his leather gloved hands.

"It frightens me," he admitted finally. Orlando shivered lightly, his elf sense prickling, and placed a comforting hand on the other man's arm.

"What does? The quest?"

"No, him - Aragorn. He's there. I know what he thinks and feels and his intensity frightens me. It is like two of us occupy my head. Every time a decision is needed I see clearly two course of action, his and mine. I hear his archaic speech, I feel his fears. It is riving me mad. It is a constant battle to keep Viggo alive." He met Orlando's gaze. "Aragorn is killing me - I am dying."

"It calls to me all the time - even now," Elijah said, "It's like I'm an obsessive-compulsive or something! All I want to do is hold it, stare at it - we're talking weird here."

Sean arranged a few blankets on the hard ground, indicated for Lij to lie down.

"Shirt off. Here, lemme help." Elijah wormed his way out of the tight mithril shirt, suddenly feeling vulnerable. He still wasn't entirely used to this Hobbit body and there was an odd glimmer in Sean's eyes that he didn't understand.

"So what does it say?" Sean asked.

"No way, man!"

"Ah c'mon! This is me, Sean."

"Back off, Astin." Lij's voice was angry but he'd covered his chest with his hand. Sean sighed and matter of factly pulled the arms away.

"Stop that. Let's get this stuff on you."

"Ow!"

"Well keep still then. Jeez, Lij! You gonna grow up any time soon?" He smeared a generous dollop onto the still weeping wound and folded a wad of padding over the whole.

"Better now?" he asked as though addressing a two year old who had had a bandaid ripped off.

"Yeah. Thanks, Doctor Kildare." Sean stuffed the ointment into his pack, suddenly serious. "Lij, look at me."

"No thanks."

"Funny guy. Lij," he caught the other man's hand, made him hold his gaze.

"About the Ring - I meant what I said. I'm your best friend and quite frankly you need me. This quest is the pits and you're gonna need every ounce of comfort and encouragement I can give you." Sean seemed to read the vulnerability in the blue eyes gazing at him. "I'm not gonna leave you, Lij."

"You sound like Sam."

Sean regarded him levelly.

"You are my Frodo," he said simply. "I can't imagine what they went through and it scares me to death imagining us having to go through it. I'm not that strong."

"I don't imagine they thought they were strong enough either. Perhaps it's a journey of discovery for us like it was for them."

"But they didn't know what was ahead of them - Sam didn't know. When he made that promise to Gandalf - and did he do that in the book? - he had no idea where it would lead him. If he had known, would he still have gone? We know what's before us. Christ, Sean - Mount Doom! How can you blithely say you'll come with me?!"

He was crying, it seemed, for he felt Sean's strong arms envelope him, telling him it would be all right.

"Lij, look at me. Hey, look at me." He seemed to be saying that a lot lately. The younger actor sniffled and raised his glorious eyes.

"What did Peter Jackson say about the Hobbits' friendship - it's unconditional, no strings attached. I'm not leaving you, okay?"

Those eyes regarded him with such heartbreaking anguish then Elijah whispered, "I don't believe you. I can't believe you!" and before the other Hobbit could reply he was pattering away.

Ian sat alone, his thought haunted. Some sixth sense prickled. There was evil here and not just the petty, stupid evil of orcs - a lurking ancient evil, shrouded in fire and shadow - and it was waiting for him. He wondered as he sucked on the wizard's pipe how much his counterpart had known about his imminent future. The film had hinted that Gandalf knew the Balrog stirred and, if he remembered correctly, in the book Aragorn had warned the wizard against Moria fearing for the wizard's safety.

He heard the patter of footsteps; he smiled as Elijah scrambled up to join him. Nowadays, he had to stop himself from giving the Hobbits a hand up or ruffling their hair - did their size really matter that much? Had Gandalf resisted the urge to hold Frodo's hand because the Hobbit was child-sized, even though in years the Hobbit was actually older than Boromir?

He gazed at his friend proudly and felt his heart wrench - Elijah's eyes were slightly red.

"Do you think there is such a thing as unconditional friendship?" the actor asked in a wistful sounding voice. He was chewing his nails again. It was a curiously Elijah habit and seemed somehow to help Ian keep perspective. He also noticed Elijah cast a glance in Sean's direction. He leaned forward, looking out at the dark of a place he never expected to see and felt the question reverberate deep in his heart.

"I don't know. Last week, had you asked me, I would have said real life rarely gifts one with such a treasure. Real life," he chuckled dryly. "But this is real life for us now, Lij and we follow the footsteps of a company whose very collective noun denotes such a happy relationship - the `fellowship.' Perhaps we should learn from them."

"I am so scared that I will fail." He leaned against Ian, needing the comfort of his nearness.

"Do you remember what Gandalf said to Frodo right here in this very place?" Lij stared at him for a moment. "He said all we have to do is decide what to do with the time that is given to us. Do you believe that?"

Ian touched his cheek gently, almost tenderly.

"If you want the advice of a frightened old wizard, go and talk to young Sean - you two need each other. Talk to him, unburden yourself." He lifted Elijah's small chin firmly, his eyes very shrewd. "Trust him, Lij, trust him with those secrets you cannot share with anyone else - even me." The wizard was doing his mind reading thing again apparently.

Elijah looked away uncomfortably. "The Ring - what it says to me."

"Tell him. My heart will be easier knowing that you walk the dark paths together." The Hobbit-sized actor smiled his thanks and scrambled down. Ian went back to his contemplation of the dark

"You busy?" Elijah asked. Sean shrugged, appeared to think deeply.

"I think I can make a window for you in my busy schedule of saving the world from unspeakable evil. What's on your mind? I use the term loosely of course."

Elijah kicked him. He looked relaxed, his hands in his pockets. Only the doubt in his luminous eyes telegraphing that his casualness was an act.

"Fancy a walk?"

"A tour through the Mines of Moria. I'm breathless with anticipation." But Sean pulled himself to his feet and followed Elijah to a lower gantry, making a rude gesture at Orlando who sent a suggestive comment after the two. He glanced across at Ian and saw the knight positively beaming at him. The old guy was getting crazier every day, all that pipeweed obviously.

Elijah parked himself on the lower step, Sean sat next to him. For a time neither spoke: Sean sensed this was important and he didn't want to ruin the moment with ill-timed jokes, Elijah was trying to compose a speech.

"Have you ever wondered where Oprah gets her guests from?" he asked at length. Sean blinked; that was way off centre. It was also slightly disorientating. He had lived and breathed the world of Middle Earth for so long now (or so it felt) that mention of the real world seemed anachronistic.

"`My Child is An Alien.' That kind of thing?"

"I was kinda wondering what my line would be."

"`I was teleported to Middle Earth?' `I have hairy Hobbitfeet?'"

Elijah smiled slightly but he was chewing his nails again. God but he needed a cigarette.

"`Confessions of a Ringbearer?' `I carried the One Ring?'" He paused. "Seanie, I need to tell you some stuff."

"Shoot." He kept his voice casual, purposely looked out at the uninspiring view rather than at Elijah.

"You asked me what the Ring said to me, right?"

"I remember."

"It ... well it says a lot of things actually. I see pictures it sends me and hear its voice. I'm never free of its influence - I wake at night knowing it sent the nightmare which haunted my sleep, I look at each member of the company as though I am looking through someone else's distorted eyes. And sometimes I can't tell where the Ring leaves off and I start."

He'd wrapped his arms round himself and Sean moved to hold him close, stroke the pale forehead gently, hold his hand. "What else does it say?"

"You. It speaks to me about you." Elijah met his eyes. "I wake up... I wake up hard dreaming about you, your body inside mine." He flushed darkly, disgust plain on his face. "Sometimes just looking at you gives me a hard-on."

"And who says that's the Ring?" Sean pushed back the soft hair. "Things have changed - rather drastically. We're not the same people we were back on earth. We've seen things we were never meant to see, we've faced dangers we never thought we'd face. Like soldiers on the ront, Lij, we have been changed by the events surrounding us and that in turn has changed our relationship. Deepened it."

Elijah rested his head against Sean's shoulder and the other began to carefully rub his neck and shoulders. "I've never felt like this before. And it's all right - I want to feel like this."

Elijah pulled away slightly, stroked the back of his hand against Sean's smooth jaw. "What if it's the Ring?"

"The Ring is evil, baby, it can't be a part of good. It can corrupt good but it can't be good." He regarded Elijah levelly, trying to convey his confidence, his belief in Elijah Wood. "We're stronger than the Ring - believe me."

A nod.

"Then show me." Elijah touched his lips to Sean's, a spark of humour and arousal in his eyes. "Show me the good."

Sean leaned forward, it was such a short distance, and kissed Elijah, bit his lower lip tenderly. Elijah melted against him, opened his mouth, deepening the kiss. Sean wound his fingers in the russet hair, stroked the base of the Hobbit's neck. Elijah gasped as a hot tingle ran down his spine. He cupped Sean's face, traced the outlines of his lips.

"Unconditional love?"

Sean felt like he could drown in those eyes. Here he was facing a Hobbit with fuzzy feet and delicate ears and yet it was so obviously Elijah who looked out of those eyes. He suddenly remembered the CD he'd been listening to on his walkman the morning before the teleportation. It had been a rough cut of the Fellowship's soundtrack. One particular lyric from the `In Dreams' track where Frodo and Sam stand facing Mordor had particularly touched him with its haunting poignancy.

"I promise," he said, "I will go there and back again."

**6**

Another grim day. They past through great halls of stone, reminding them slightly of the Ancient Egyptian temples, with their fluted sides and carved top stones. Overhead flew bats and the air circulated slightly but still they found no trace of inhabitants.

Dom found the monstrous pillars particularly malevolent. "You know what this place reminds me of?" he whispered to Billy, his eyes everywhere.

"I give up."

"`Alien.'"

Billy gave him a sidelong look. "That was set on a spaceship, idiot. This is ... a temple if anything."

"With lots of shadowy corners and dark places to hide in." Dom shuddered. "I'm telling you, this place gives me the creeps. I keep seeing grey slimy things slithering behind pillars."

"Die off, Dom." The Hobbit moved in close and said in deep sepulchral tones, "In Dwarrowdelf no-one can hear you scream!"

 

They rested in the shadow of a monstrous pillar eating their meagre lunch stoically - they were all heartily sick of salted beef and cheese. They had had to ration their water.

"A king he was on carven throne in many pillared halls of stone," came a deep rumbling voice. The company gazed in amazement at Ian who smiled a little as he continued: "With golden roof and silver floor and runes of power upon the door. The light of sun and star and moon in shining lamps of crystal hewn. Undimmed by cloud or shade of night, there shone forever fair and bright. It's from one of Tolkein's poems, written about Durin, the founding father of the Mines of Moria."

"It's weird to think dwarves and elves and Hobbits really exist, isn't it," Dom said with a far away look on his face. "I used to dream about such things - "

"Did you indeed?" Beanie arched an eyebrow and Dom threw his pack at him. They all laughed.

"Do you know what I miss the most?" Billy said, "I mean from before."

"Haggis?" Orli riposted.

"Ho, ho, see how I chuckle. No - pizza." He nudged Orli with his hairy foot. "What about you? Sex? Getting drunk? Slouching?" The elf stuck his tongue out at him. "Just because we elves don't slump like potatoes. I miss TV big time."

Viggo let his gaze slip away. He knew what he missed - himself. Every step they took, he could feel the mind of Aragorn growing. He remembered how Aragorn had walked through the endless twilight of Rivendell with Arwen, he remembered the lonely days tramping through the wilderness and how strong his hands were on his sword. But memories of his own past, Viggo's past, days fishing by the lake, the films he had starred in - they disappeared like mist before the wind.

Day followed day and they all became sick for a sight of the sun. Fear and trepidation left their mark and they all had the look of hunted animals, ready to fight or flee at the first sign of danger.

They were looking at a short platform between two flights of stairs, no-one making a move, all thoughts similar. It was the guard room where, in the book, the fellowship rested and where Pippin threw his stone. Billy gulped. "Let's keep going, shall we? That well gives me the creeps."

Orlando shook his head in that graceful way of his. They'd walked more than fifteen miles, Viggo said, and yet the young actor's back was a straight as a board. "Do we know for definite that it was Pippin's stone that woke the Balrog?" he asked with a fair stab at casualness. The mere mention of the demon's name seemed to deepen the shadows.

Ian took a second to swallow past the dryness in his throat, only the years of training at the RSC kept his voice from shaking. "I'm not sure; it's inferred rather than stated categorically. It is sometime after the stone falls before the orcs come." He smiled briefly at Billy. Orlando was regarding the Hobbit curiously. "Do you feel drawn to the well like Pippin was?"

"No. In fact, I don't feel like Pippin at all. He was a typical tweenager in many ways, a little foolish, a little unthinking and naive. But I feel like I always have. The only thing I am picking up on is his tremendous loyalty and determination to stay with Frodo - but that could be coming just as easily from me." Billy flickered a look at the well. "Still I'm not taking any chances. I'm not going anywhere near the well or any other crevices. Come on, I'd rather walk another couple of miles."

There was a murmur of assent and the company moved off, all of them stepping carefully round the pit. With the well behind them, their confidence grew. They seemed to take it for granted that the danger of the Balrog had now been neatly neutralised.

But as he walked ahead, his torch held aloft and his eyes scanning the shadowy walls of the ancient kingdom, Ian felt no such conviction: the Balrog was waiting. He could feel its heartbeat thrumming in the deep places of the world, felt its eye upon him, malevolent and patient.

Sean pulled at Elijah's sleeve. "Don't you think it's weird how the transition has affected each of us differently?"Elijah cast a quick glance at Viggo then surprisingly at Beanie.

"Yes."

"Me, I feel Sam's practicality and love of gardening but I don't feel like settling down with a wife and thirteen children. And I hate smoking."

"And I've noticed you've been neglecting your duties as my servant," Elijah grinned.

Sean pulled his forelock. "Begging your pardon, Mr Elijah, sir." He looked serious again.

"Then there's Vig. I'm worried about him, Lij. He's cutting himself off from us."

"We've all got issues - let him deal with his in his own time."

"You've got issues, I've got issues. We've been shrunk like extras from the `Land of the Giants' - what are his issues? He's not gonna die. He's gonna be king of Gondor and marry an elven princess." He frowned at the tall figure walking ahead of them. "I tell you, there's something really not right with him."

Their camp was in an out of the way chamber situated under the main staircase. No-one could figure out the original purpose of the room and, in a slightly ironic fashion, they fell to discussing the day to day practicalities of the Mines.

"Haven't seen any bathrooms yet," Beanie said with a leer at Dom.

"Perhaps Doc, Dopey and Grumpy are too busy digging for mithril to care," Sean said.

Orlando caught Beanie's eye. "Well it's what they like to." He held out his hands like a conductor. "On three: We dig, dig, dig, dig,dig, dig, dig, we dig the whole day through. We dig, dig, dig, dig,dig, dig, dig, it's what we like to do!"

The evening passed in quiet conversation, only Elijah and Ian not contributing. Ian was sat outside the door, ostensibly on watch. Elijah pattered over.

"Ian?"

"Dear boy."

"Every step we take brings us inexorably closer to the Balrog. The others discount it but I know it's there - I can feel it," Elijah said, for the Ring taunted him hourly with the fiery demon.

"As with the Watcher, so with the Balrog - we shall avoid it. Billy did not repeat Pippin's mistake - there is no reason why it should have stirred. We'll let sleeping demons lie, shall we?" Ian gave him a Gandalf twinkle but the old eyes were sad. Elijah felt frustration well up.

"Ian, I am not a child to be protected. Why do you have to hide from me, even if you hide from the others? I'm the Ringbearer, remember? You don't believe it was the stone that woke the demon, do you?"

The wizard raised his eyebrow in wry acknowledgement of his friend's sudden prescience.

"Very well, Lij." He took a pull at his pipe, gazed off into the distance. "The Balrog waits for me. I think it is possible that we can avoid it in some way but it is certainly true that it is not asleep."

"I can't lose you!" Elijah grabbed the man's hand tightly, tears glistening in his eyes. Ian drew him close, stroked the soft curly hair, chafed the tiny hand in his own.

"Gandalf doesn't die," he murmured gently.

"But you are not Gandalf. Please, Ian, do not shut me out."

"I'm terrified, Lij, like all of us. I do not know how much of this quest is pre-determined. I wonder if Gandalf knew his fate? Cirdan gave him the elven ring centuries ago, did he know one day he would have to use it? I do know that Gandalf the Grey was not strong enough to throw down Saruman but Gandalf the White was. Only through his death came his resurrection. He was meant to die and he was meant to be brought back to life in order to defeat Saruman and - if I may misquote the script - `that is an encouraging thought, don't you think.'"

"No, I do not." The Hobbit looked down at their linked hands.

He thought of the terrible months ahead; months he would have to face without Ian, months where he would not know if his friend were truly dead or regenerated like Gandalf. This was not a jaunt through a fictional land with them play-acting fictional characters - this was Real Life and his friend was going to die. He thought of the lonely road without the man's wisdom and sonorous tones. "Don't leave me!"

There were tears in Ian's eyes too. "I have to, my dear boy. If I survive, Gandalf goes to Minas Tirith - they need him. And who is to say that Frodo would have succeeded if Gandalf were with him?"

"Who is to say that he wouldn't have? We have changed things already. Billy did not throw the stone, the Watcher did not attack."

"I agree - we make our own choices, just as the characters in the book did. Let me ask you something. When the fellowship breaks, what do you intend to do?"

"Go to Mordor," Elijah retorted as though speaking to an idiot.

"With Sean?"

Elijah's hand tensed in his. "No. I cannot allow him to risk his life for me."

"And that is your choice." Elijah stared at him not understanding.

"Lij, we must do what we think is right. All of us."

Ian couldn't sleep that night. Elijah stayed with him. Refused point blank to return to the company and Ian was glad of the young man's moral support but the hours passed and Elijah was nodding, trying valiantly to fight the sleep he so desperately needed.

"Go to sleep, Lij," Ian said gently. He wrapt his cloak tenderly round the frail-seeming shoulders, stroked back his hair, feeling curiously protective.

"I want to stay with you."

"You are with me. Now go to sleep, foolish Hobbit."

Ian could feel his nemesis stir. It was inevitable their confrontation and he would die. He'd been struggling with that revelation for days now and no solution had presented itself. For all of his efforts to hoodwink the company and for all his brave words just now to Elijah, there was no getting away from it. Gandalf had died, he would die. Gandalf had been resurrected but, try as he might, he did not have the faith to believe he would be.

That was the hub of the matter: faith. For all that they were stuck in this alternative universe, the company stubbornly refused to be a part of it - they acted like spectators erroneously drawn in to participate.

Middle Earth was, however, a real place, populated by real people, real evil and real good. He remembered snatches of Galadriel's lament, the description of Valinor and the gods who dwelt there for all eternity.

He fingered the Ring of Fire absently, remembering that Gandalf was a wielder of the Flame of Arnor which, Tolkein had said, was synonymous with the Holy Spirit. But he was Ian McKellan and he had no faith in God, least of all faith in a fictional one. How then could he hope to be resurrected?

He swept his eyes over the vaulted ceiling absently and his heart froze. There above them, like some monstrous bat consuming the sleeping Elijah with his pale eyes, was Gollum. Ian drew Glamdring and the evil creature slunk away. By his side, Elijah stirred fitfully and Ian moved to pat his shoulder.

"There now, dear boy, he's gone. I hope."

It was the next day that Viggo reported signs of habitation. As had been his wont recently he had gone ahead to recce. He came back looking grim, his sword gleaming openly in his hand.

"Lij, check Sting." The blade was gleaming faintly.

"They're near," Billy whispered.

Ian gathered them all close. "Listen. Our greatest strength lies in stealth. We will avoid them if possible. You all know your roles in a fight. It appears we are close to the east door already - we have done well." He bent to the ground with some difficulty, drew a hasty sketch in the dust. "Look, here is the Chamber of Mazarbul, the east door and the Bridge of Khazad Dum - this is our position. I want you all to know the way out. We are refreshed, we will try to reach the Dimrill Dale by tonight."

They spent the rest of the day carefully creeping forward, hiding behind each of the massive pillars in turn as they made their stealthy way through Dwarrowdelf. No-one talked, no-one made a sound. They extinguished their torches relying instead on the pitiful light coming from the orc's wall sconces. Time and again, a party of orcs would appear, intent on some mission, conversing in their hideous guttural language and each time the company would freeze behind the nearest pillar, hiding their faces from the light.

Elijah, his face anguished, stayed close to Ian. The wizard squeezed his hand for a moment then let go. Sean stepped closer, perhaps sensing his friend's concern and Ian beamed at him. Events were happening too fast. Elijah felt like they were being swept along, that they were no longer in control. He wanted to stop his friends, tell them what Ian intended to do but the opportunities were long past. He could not risk talking now with orc patrols crossing their hiding places every few minutes.

Viggo checked ahead once more then silently gestured for the rest to catch up with him. Quietly one by one the fellowship ghosted from behind their pillars to gather next to the man. He smiled grimly and grasped Elijah's shoulder. He pointed ahead to where a massive stone door stood ajar. They did not need to be told it was the Chamber of Mazarbul that stood behind that door. With a terse nod, Ian indicated for the company to proceed. As the others fanned past, he grabbed Elijah's arm, pulled him into a tight hug.

"Be strong, Elijah," he said and then was gone.

Bean, Orlando and Viggo fanned out. Sean Astin closed the door they had come through and, giving the chamber and its enormous sepulchre nought but a cursory glance, the fellowship made for the east door.
No-one felt like sightseeing.

"Back! Back, quickly!" Orlando had been listening intently and he suddenly grabbed his friends and started shoving them back the way they had come. "Orcs!"

The east door flung open and there, indeed, were orcs. Elijah felt that tinge of revulsion at such an obscene creature and remembered that orcs were elves once, tortured and mutilated by the dark powers.

The orcs hissed at them, circling nervously. It was a large band of obviously low ranking orcs. There was an unspoken agreement as their foes closed in that this was everyone's chance to `blood' themselves, to test their courage in a real battle. It took all of Dom's courage to thrust his sword into the ugly creature's stomach
but he did it.

Elijah killed two - and the Ring's song soared in exultation, bloodlust ringing in his ears. There was no time to think of anything except reacting to the orcs, staying alive those extra few minutes in order to face another foe. The orcs in Moria were not the bravest or sharpest warriors, they discovered. They were, however, numerous. And they had a pet.

Elijah heard the Ring trill with triumph as he saw the cave troll. Peter Jackson's computer generated troll had been ugly; a warty, blobby mass standing about eight feet. The real thing was leaner with a much more pronounced lower jaw and eyes that burned with bloodlust and intelligence.

And Elijah could do nothing to defend himself. The Ring sang to him, mesmerised him. He saw the hulking beast turn to him, sniff questioningly then take a ground-crunching step towards him. Its hellish eyes were terrifying.

Just in time, Viggo jumped in between them with Bean behind. While the first distracted the troll, Beanie caught Elijah by the cloak and literally yanked him out of danger. Two more orcs appeared and Beanie had to duck out of their way. Elijah gasped in pain as the Ring choked him. His rescuer flickered a look at him then hoisted him on his shoulder and carried him out of danger.

It was soon patently obvious they were outnumbered. The orcs were a mere irritation but the cave troll was unstoppable. Orlando tried the trick from the film, leaping onto the thing's back and shooting arrows into its thick skull but the arrows bounced off harmlessly.

They had to keep giving quarter until at last they were being forced step by step into the corner for an heroic last-stand.
And it was then that Elijah noticed that all of his friends were standing in a protective circle around him. Anger and grief welled up in him and he screamed, "I'm not worth dying for!" but Viggo speared him with a grim glance. The man's sword arm hung uselessly at his side.

"You carry the fate of us all, little one," he said and Elijah went cold at the words of the film. "We will see you to safety. Be ready."

Suddenly Ian leapt forward. His face was contorted with effort as he raised his staff. He roared out some elvish words, the orcs gibbered nervously then, when nothing seemed to happen, they pressed forward again. Viggo pulled Ian back for the man was on the verge of collapse. The cave troll growled deep in his throat and Elijah whimpered. Then he realised it wasn't the troll - it was the roof.

There was a jarring, screaming creak then silence then a more ominous screech of rending stone. The troll looked up at the ceiling, assayed a grunt or two, obviously out of his depth, and sniffed questioningly. The ceiling groaned again and a fine dusting of powder covered the creature.

Then in an almighty crash the rest of the roof caved in burying the troll and most of the orcs.

"Now!" yelled Ian, "Now's our last chance." And Elijah found himself sprinting as fast as his Hobbit feet would go, his mind screaming at him all the time for Ian but there was nowhere else to go. Orcs were following them, appearing from half sunken chambers, anterooms, lower shafts, even from the gantries above. The company flew on. As they were sprinting down another flight of stairs at break neck speed, Beanie saw Ian falter. He grabbed the old man's arm in concern, surprised when the other grasped his hand firmly. Ian was breathing hard and his eyes were tortured. He gazed at Beanie with something akin to pride. "Farewell, my dear Sean," he said, squeezed his hand then was gone.

The Bridge was a matter of yards away and Elijah, for all of the Ring's malicious jibes, had begun to think they would be spared the Balrog - that somehow Ian's trick had worked - when, suddenly, everything went quiet.

Dead quiet.

Not even the hissing of the braziers could be heard. The Balrog erupted out of the black pit beneath the bridge and Saruman had been right, it was just flame and shadow, a great blackness which seemed
to destroy light.

"Go!" screamed Ian but no-one intended to allow Ian to fight the demon alone. The thing screamed fire, sending the company flying to the floor. Ian whirled to face it, just metres from the rest of the company. The creature rumbled, the noise reverberating through every stone of the Mines, and Elijah had to hang on to Sean for support as the Ring choked him.

And then Ian glanced at Elijah. A long slow look of compassion and love and hope.

"No!" Lij screamed, already moving to his friend for suddenly he sensed what he was going to do. But it was too late.
Ian raised Gandalf's staff and hit the Bridge at his feet - cutting himself and the Balrog off from the rest of the company. The masonry fell into the abyss below leaving a twenty foot gap. Elijah screamed denial. Ian turned to face the Balrog, a small vulnerable figure, ridiculously bent and small before its huge bulk.

"You shall not pass!" he roared in a commanding voice.

The creature spat fire at him and, for a second, the familiar grey robes were engulfed in searing flame then the flames quenched and Ian stood unharmed. One last time Ian looked across at the company then again the staff hit the bridge at his feet and the small portion that Ian and the Balrog were standing on fell slowly, almost majestically, into the darkness below.

"No! No! Ian!" Elijah flung himself to the edge of the abyss and from very far below he heard the familiar words: "Fly, you fools!"

Ian was gone.

**7**

 

Just like the original company, they cast themselves to the floor, weeping uncontrollably in shock and mortification. They clung to each other, in denial and deep unbelieving grief.

Elijah howled in despair. It wasn't fair! That was what hurt the most. It wasn't supposed to be like that. They had avoided the Watcher which proved they cut their own path in this obscene land, Billy had not thrown the stone which had woken the Balrog - and yet the Balrog had still been waiting for them, rising from the very pits of hell. And Ian. Elijah groaned, curling into a fetal position. Ian had known. He'd deliberately mislead the company - and Elijah - into thinking the Balrog had been avoided, could be avoided. But he'd known, he'd known.

And on that Bridge, knowing that the Company would not leave him to fight alone (however much he railed and ranted at them) he'd deliberately broken the bridge killing himself and the Balrog. But it needn't have been like that! He needed Ian!

 

It was Viggo who pulled them together and got them moving. The Dane's eyes were filled with tears and Elijah felt savagely glad that Ian's sacrifice had hurt the brooding Ranger.

"We must get to Lothlorien."

"Aye, we know," Billy snapped, taking his anger out on anybody who was stupid enough to let him, "by nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs."

The Hobbit made a particularly un-Hobbit like gesture.

"Why don't you go stick Anduril up your ass, Vig."

But Elijah pulled himself to his feet and made Billy do the same.

"He's right."

Billy swore colourfully.

"Do you want his death to be in vain? Well, do you! Then get a fucking move on!" Elijah grabbed up his pack and began walking. He cast a last glance at Dimrill Dale and at the smoke rising from the entrance.

 

They rested by a tributary of the Anduin - or at least that's what Viggo said it was. Dom had his arms round Billy who was still crying but the rest had the look of shell-shocked soldiers, too hurt and confused to know what to do. They lashed out at each other instead.

"Must we go to Lothlorien?" Sean asked in that tight voice which meant he was holding in fierce emotions. "I want this quest over with asap. I say we get on with it. You lot get to Gondor, Lij and I will follow Anduin's eastern shore to Mordor."

"We must," Viggo stated in a tone that brooked no argument. Sean's eyes flickered murder but Beanie stayed his arm.

"That's enough, guys. We're not going to start taking pot-shots at each other."

"No, not yet at any rate," Elijah muttered, giving the Yorkshireman a significant glance. The Ring soared in his mind, unfurling images of murder and mayhem, of him thrusting a dagger deep into Bean's vitals for betraying him on Amon Hen. He'd make Bean suffer; the man would be screaming for mercy before he finished with him.

*Ash nazg durbatuluk*

Bean flushed but his voice remained steady. "We need the help of the elves and, bloody hell, we could all use the rest. You need the Lightbulb of Galadriel or whatever it's called and we all need the lembas and cloaks." He paused, looked round for support, found none. "Perhaps the Mirror will give us some guidance."

*Ash nazg gimbatul*

"Yeah like that's gonna happen," Sean remarked bitterly.

*Ash nazg thrakatuluk*

"It may show us the way home," Orlando said, hotly. "Galadriel has great power."

"And instead of using it she chooses to sit up in her tree and do sod all to help!" Dom snapped.

"That's enough!!" Elijah leapt to his feet, the Ring a dead weight in his hand. "Don't you see what it's doing, the Ring? It's trying to break us up." He took a deep breath, ignoring the Ring's disgusting pictures. "We've already lost Ian, I don't intend for us to lose anyone else. Let's get going. Vig, you know the way."

As the weary fellowship marched on, Beanie strode forward to fall in besides Elijah.

"How are you holding up?" he asked quietly.

"The Ring grows heavier every day," Elijah looked up at the Man, "and soon you will betray me." Bean flinched slightly, taken aback by the little one's words. They were spoken without malice, just in sure faith.

"Boromir betrayed Frodo on Amon Hen but I am not Boromir."

"Gandalf died on the Bridge of Khazad Dum but Ian was not Gandalf and he still died."

"That was his call, Lij. He deliberately faced that demon. I don't know why but we all have choices."

Elijah had drawn to a stop and Beanie knelt next to him.

"I have a choice, you have a choice." He looked away, aware that the rest of the company were watching from a discreet distance.

"I don't feel the pull of the Ring. I do not envy it like Saruman nor do I wish to use it to defend Gondor like Boromir. I will not betray you."

"I bet that's what Boromir thought too," Elijah said, stepped around the kneeling figure and continued walking.

They reached Lothlorien a few hours later. They had been mired in this new reality for only a fortnight yet they were all much fitter, able to march 25 miles a day if necessary on very little food. The rolling hills gave way to glades of mysterious trees then to silent woods. Despite their deep grief, the tranquillity eased their suffering like a soothing balm.

"Daro!" commanded a new voice and the company wearily halted, turning without surprise to lay eyes on their first Lothlorien elf. Haldir was drop-dead gorgeous.

Orlando remembered the mini lecture PJ had given him about the genesis of the elves - some elves went to the Undying lands, some didn't. Of those who did, some stayed, some left, some others took an oath and killed lots of their kin. Some others came back to Middle-Earth, took one look, and ran back to Valinor.

He remembered PJ had wanted the elves to look graceful, ethereal but also slightly androgynous. Orlando didn't think it had quite worked for Lothlorien where the ambiguity had come across as campness. There was nothing camp or ambiguous about Haldir, he positively reeked of testosterone and yet remained so graceful and poised that Orlando felt dirty and malformed next to him.

As Haldir led them through the twilight calm of the forest, Elijah felt his heart ache for this land. There was a deep grief here, a yearning that was without self-pity. The stars shone brightly and the sound of a thousand voices in exquisite harmony filled the air. He felt tears prick at his eyes and thought of Ian. Silvery shadows fell upon them as they walked and he caught the occasional glimpse of diaphanous elves melting into the shadows.

They walked for a long time until they couldn't feel their legs and the Hobbits tripped over their feet. Yet they didn't feel fatigued - just tranquil like all their cares could be laid aside. Their host led them to where a tall mallorn grew and Elijah gasped at the tree's beauty. It was so alive, so delighting in its very existence.

He touched the bark gently and felt intelligence there as well as that peculiar sadness that everything in Lothlorien seemed to feel. He followed Haldir up the flight of stairs which circled the noble trunk. Up and up they climbed, catching silvery glimpses of glades far below while the night air sweetened with blossom.

Caras Galadhon was so beautiful that Elijah found he was crying as he approached it. He felt Sean hugging him and knew all the company were as moved as he. And he felt a terrible loss too and knew with startling clarity that all his life - whether spent here or at home - he would always grieve for the loss of Lothlorien.

A slender woman was emerging from the silver twilight. Without any embarrassment they all bowed. She approached slowly, with such dignity as to be almost shattering.

Elijah would never remember what The Lady of the Galadhrim said to him that night but he remembered the stars falling in her eyes.

The weary company were taken to a flet to rest and there, as though their cares had never existed, they slept. Elijah awoke in some confusion and felt for his alarm clock. With a tightening of his gut he remembered he was in Middle Earth. He squinted up at the sky through the rich canopy. He could see the azure blue sky far above through a glinting golden web of leaves for the sun poured gold on Lothlorien as the moon cast silver. Sean was already up, lying on the grass a few feet away just gazing into space. An elf walked past, unhurried and serene. Everything seemed to be slower in Lothlorien like the laws of time were being slowed by the might of the elven ring on Galadriel's finger.

"Hi," Elijah said. Sean smiled slowly at him, his eyes were red.

"Mae govannen. Is that right?" He sat up and accepted Elijah's hug, kissed his cheek. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've strayed into a dream," Lij quoted with the flicker of a smile. "It's so beautiful here - and yet I miss Ian. I miss him so much."

"I know." Sean searched his gaze for a second then pulled him to his feet. "Let's walk."

Orlando found Beanie honing his sword. He was sat on a verdant green knoll with blossom falling all around him although it was not spring.

"Would you like some company?"

"Sure." Sean tried to carry on cleaning while the elf wrapped his arms round his neck - it was rather distracting. Orlando hummed a tune he had heard last night, harmonising effortlessly with it. Sean glanced up at him.

"You're doing it again."

"Do you know what the lament said?"

"No, you wouldn't translate, remember."

"It was beautiful, so evocative and yet I wanted to shout out that they were grieving for the wrong person. The lament was for Gandalf - I want to grieve for Ian." There was a pause.

"Sean, why did you come here?"

The Yorkshire man snorted.

"I wasn't given much choice if I recall."

"You could have stayed - at the teleportation site. Or you could have returned to Rivendell. We all could have."

Sean finished with his sword and speared Orlando with a candid look.

"I don't know why the hell I came. Shock, disbelief."

"At first, yes. But when it finally dawned on you that this was reality, why did you stay then?"

"Are all elves as nosy?"

"Sean," Orlando caught his arm, tangled their fingers together. "Please."

He cast his friend a mock annoyed look and leaned back against the sweet smelling grass, pulling the elf's light frame next to him. He stroked a hand through the fine hair and chuckled - it really was girly fine.

"I don't know. I think I stay to prove myself." A slightly indulgent smile touched Orlando's lips.

"To prove that you are a manly man who isn't afraid of nasty little orcs?"

"To prove to Lij that I will not betray him."

Orlando's breath caught.

"I am so afraid that I will lose you," he whispered into the golden light. Sean kissed his lips gently, tenderly.

"Make love to me," he said. Orlando's eyes were luminous, open and vulnerable, mirroring his own. Sean wanted this strange elven creature who sang and walked in a world he couldn't begin to understand and which had vanished from his real world millennia ago.

"I want you inside me. Here now."

"Here now? What if the elves watch?"

"We'll sell tickets. Come here."

They undressed each other, marvelling in their turn at the contrast between their bodies; Sean's hairy chest, wide muscular torso and thick penis, Orlando's slighter frame, free from hair, and his slender penis. Last time had been tender and passionate but they'd felt rather rushed. Here in the amber light, they felt as though their lovemaking was as timeless as Lothlorien itself.

Orlando soothed silky hands over coarse human skin delighting in the man's responses, his vitality and passion. The light fell honey and liquid gold through the tree above and a single silver leaf fluttered down to land on Sean's chest. It gave Orlando an idea. He picked up a small branch, stroked the crinkly crisp leaves - he grinned. Sean eyed him with some suspicion.

"Trust me," he murmured. He slithered the branch over Sean's chest and belly, fascinated by the play of the leaves over the hard muscles and Sean's whimpering moans. He snaked it this way and that, before swishing it lightly over peaked nipples. He licked and kissed at the too-sensitive chest before working his branch down between his lover's legs, letting the leaves follow the contours there. Sean moaned and shivered, as the crinkly leaves caught in his hair and touched exposed nerves. He raised his hips but the elf smiled secretly and threw the branch away. Ignoring more obvious treasures, he nuzzled at soft inner thighs and balls, taking the soft orbs into his mouth, thrumming deep in his throat. Sean felt he was going to lose his mind.

"Orli, bloody hell!"

"What is it, mortal?" Orlando asked, far too innocently considering where that mouth had been.

"Please - inside me. Before I burst."

Orli smiled that secretive smile again, his voice rising in a new harmony. While he lapped gently at his lover's cock, he gently explored the opening below, sliding a questing finger inside.

"We have no oil."

Sean let out a strangled laugh. "Aren't you elves always prepared?"

"That's boy scouts not elves, Seanie."

The Yorkshireman speared the almost sniggering elf with a quashing look.

"If you think I'm going back to the city to ask Galadriel for some oil, you've got another think coming, Master Bloom."

"Now there's an image." Orlando chuckled. He pulled himself up his lover's body, trapping the man's penis between their bodies."You will have to provide the lubrication, dear one." He sat either side of Sean's head, offering himself. With a groan the man obliged while Orlando threw back his head and sang his adulation.

Eventually Bean pulled away. He was breathing hard. Orlando rubbed noses with him for a moment then slid down. Sean lifted his knees, feeling only love for this elf who so delighted him.

Orlando positioned himself and slowly slid in. Bean groaned, sweat standing out on his face, his breathing turning ragged as his body tensed. Orlando crooned deep in his throat, stroked light fingers to smooth away the frown lines.

"Easy, my love. Slowly," he murmured.

Sean looked up at him, at the play of light on his flawless skin and eased. Orlando slid in a little further and this time Bean sighed.

"Oh yeah. That's good," he murmured. They smiled at each other, the moment stretching timeless. There was peace and acceptance in this land and Bean felt that now. Looking up at the man who was joined with him, he felt at peace with his destiny, felt that - for Orlando - he could walk the dark road ahead. Orlando appeared to be thinking similar thoughts for he lifted up a flowering vine from the forest floor and, keeping his eyes on Bean, wrapped it round their arms.

"Thus do the elves bind themselves, love to love. We are joined now, heart of my heart." Sean nodded, overcome. He felt the tears come, pulled Orli's head down so he could kiss those perfect lips. "Always."

 

Sean and Elijah walked the tranquil glades of Lothlorien, their feet crushing sweet smelling grass and herbs. Everything was bathed in soft golden light, delicate and ethereal but not quite real. Elves drifted past, measured and graceful; they were smiling but Elijah still sensed that underlying sadness. It was a patient sadness, an acceptance and a love which transcended loss. The elves knew their time was passing.

It helped a little, their dignity in the face of change and upheaval. It would have been so easy to scream and rage against the cruel fate which had befallen them and robbed them of their companion and friend but, faced with the serenity of the elves, their anger turned to a yearning loss. Sean slung his arm round Elijah's shoulder struck by how fragile the other man seemed. They came upon a sheltered copse where the light turned the colour of honey and deep amber. A glimmer of bright gold caught Sean's eye. He tugged at Elijah's arm and knelt down by a bunch of tiny flowers. There was a gentle smile on Sean's face as he touched their delicate petals.

"What are they?" Elijah asked, sitting down so he could nestle close. This close they could smell the sweet refreshing fragrance. It seemed to remove all tiredness and care. "They're not athelas?"

"Elanor," Sean breathed. "`And in a fading crown have twined the golden elanor.'"

He leaned back against a convenient tree, drew Elijah against him. The golden light shone honey and russet in his hair.

"It's from Galadriel's lament. She was a Noldor."

Elijah was caught up in Sean's tender mood. It seemed important somehow to learn of this world and its inhabitants.

"Tell me."

"She saw the light of Valinor but her people took an oath - a terrible oath - and forsook the Undying Land. What she must have seen in those long centuries - Nargothrond and Gondolin..." Sean trailed off, fingering the elanor again. "She was given one of the elven rings and founded Lothlorien but she longs for the Undying Lands. Her homeland is fading, her people leaving and when the One Ring is destroyed, Lothlorien will fade. She fears she will not be able to return to Valinor."

"I'm the footstep of doom to her," Elijah murmured. Sean shrugged.

"The time of the elves is at an end," he said simply.

They curled up in that small copse, watching the play of light and shadow, soothed by the peace of the place. They talked about Ian: his calmness, his twinkling eyes and air of knowing everything; of his professionalism on set which hadn't stopped him getting involved in silly Hobbit pranks, of his sonorous voice which held an audience spellbound as he relayed anecdotes from his long and varied career; of his strength as their leader and lastly his bravery in meeting his death.

Elijah felt the stab of anger replaced by just a deep sadness, a sadness tinged with acceptance as though he had had longer to come to terms with his friend's loss than he had - as though what was left was just the pure grief without the dreadful anger and wrath.

He studied Sean who was almost reverently plaiting the stems of elanor into a crown. It seemed natural, almost respectful. He thought about the long road ahead, of the pain which was to come. He had to make the choice to go alone - just like Frodo had done - to protect his friends, those he loved.

Sean finished his wreath and set it carefully on Elijah's hair, kissed him tenderly. Lij snorted, struck a pose but Sean's answering smile was thoughtful.

"I'm coming with you," he stated as though he had heard Elijah's thoughts - or perhaps he was just so attuned to his friend anyway.

Elijah's heart contracted and it seemed right, in this timeless land, to kiss Sean gently, to try to express his love and gratitude.

"No."

The other Hobbit stroked the softness of his cheeks, his lips. "You can't go alone. You need me."

"Ian is dead - how many more must I lose?"

"We've had this conversation before as I recall," Sean stated with uncharacteristic firmness. "You won't lose me. I told you before and I'll tell you again - I'm not going to leave you. You keep muttering about choices. I have a choice."

Elijah wanted to get angry, frustrated. "You put that much faith in the stupid book? You'd risk your life - or worse - on the tenuous belief that Sam didn't die therefore you won't?"

"I could die, you could die but whatever happens I will not leave you willingly."

Elijah felt the sting of now familiar tears - had he cried this much at home?

"I hate being the Ringbearer. I hate knowing that people are throwing their lives away because of me."

"Because of what you carry actually. The Ring is ultimate evil and whatever happens to you and me, somehow it has to be destroyed. But I'm not coming with you because of the Ring. If Orlando had the Ring, or Billy, I'd still be coming with you."

"I'm not worth dying for, Sean!"

Sean kissed him again, tenderly but with mounting passion. There was such love in that kiss. Elijah parted his lips, let the man kiss him deeply. He desperately needed to be loved right now, to believe Sean that everything would be all right.

"We all have a reason for being on this quest. I can guess at a few motivations - but I'll tell you mine - though I thought I'd made it plain in the Mines. I'm here because I love you, you Elijah Wood. Where you go, I go. We have to go to Mordor. You didn't make that choice, I didn't make that choice. Fate made that choice. There's no point killing yourself over this, feeling guilt ridden and wretched for something that is outside of your control."

"I will go there and back again?" Lij repeated their vow.

"We will go there and back again."

** 8 **

"Where isss it? We're here and we wantss it." A grey shape slithered down the trunk of a mallorn tree, ensured the coast was clear and leapt into the shadowy depths of the tree's neighbour.

Gollum was frightened. The sun hurt his skin and the presence of elves made him whimper and lick his long fingers. He was ravenously hungry. His keen sense of smell told him there was a lake here but it had taken wretched hours for him to gather his courage together and actually slink to the water's edge.

"Fissssh," he muttered. "We likess fissh, oh yess." He dipped in a webbed hand and scooped out a large specimen. He retired with his prize behind the waterfall where it was cool and dark and away from the nasty yellow eye.

They strolled hand in hand through the sleepy forest, every sense seemingly awake to the beauty surrounding them. Eventually they came across a silvered pool beneath a bubbling waterfall that was straight out of a holiday brochure. Elijah laughed in delight. He remembered the last bath he had had when the transition had been new and how gentle Sean's hands had been.

Holding Sean's gaze, he began unbuttoning his jacket and shirt. Sean flicked his hands away, took over the chore with much caressing of flesh. Thankfully Lij had not put on the mithril. Sean slid the homespun shirt off one pale shoulder, paused to tenderly kiss the weeping wound.

"Oh baby, I'm so sorry."

"Sssh, it's okay." Elijah shrugged out of the rest of the garments and began on Sean's, biting and nibbling the Hobbit's neck as he did so. He stroked giving flesh, circled the nipple with a lazy finger.

Sean sighed in delight. He pulled Elijah closer and kissed him again, feeling the other Hobbit press against his body, their naked flesh sending ripples of delight down nerve endings. He ran his fingers through the tangled hair, now shining copper in the sunlight, and touched the point of a Hobbit ear.

He paused, remembering Elijah's earlier reaction to his changed appearance. Elijah, however, was smiling at him, a little unsure but trusting. Sean murmured reassurance into the still air and caressed the finely sculpted ear. Then he kissed the lobe, suckled on the exposed tip. From Elijah's reaction it appeared Hobbit ears were particularly sensitive. He blew cold air on the glistening tip before sending butterfly kisses down the long pale neck, along the jawline and back to the pouty lips.

"Gotcha," he whispered huskily.

Elijah broke the kiss in order to start on his own much loathed Hobbit trousers. A thought struck him: perhaps he could get Galadriel (who was nifty with a loom by all accounts) to rustle up a few pairs of proper trousers. Sean was staring at him, probably wondering why he was laughing. He was about to share the joke when he realised Sean was staring at the Ring. For a moment he went cold. Then Sean was smiling, kissing him, whispering for him to relax.

"Can you take that thing off, Lij? I want this to be just you and me."

Elijah held the Ring in his hand for a fraction of a second; he looked deep into its fire - and denied it. He pulled the chain off and tossed it to the ground. It wasn't like any evil could enter Lothlorien and steal it. He started on his trousers again and saw Sean doing the same. He hesitated only slightly at tugging them off. Sean, who was quicker, watched him with some appreciation. He took Elijah's hand in one of his, caressed the somewhat prominent hip bone with the other. Elijah moaned.

Sean watched his lover's face as he carefully swept his fingers across the flat belly before touching him intimately for the first time. Elijah looked like his knees were going to give way. Sean pulled him close for a hot kiss then chivvied him towards the water. The water felt tingly like fine hampagne. Elijah found a shallower place where the riverbed was sandy and clear.

He knelt down, drawing Sean with him and they kissed again, dripping water over each other, watching it run in rivulets down the contours of their chests. Their bodies moved closer and they both gasped as their erections met. Sean stroked Elijah gently, finding a rhythm easily. Elijah rested his head on his lover's shoulder, planted kisses there while his mind soared in ecstasy.

Eventually he cried in fulfilment and fell back into the water. Sean snorted with laughter but found himself being dragged on top. The water lapped over him, its buoyancy lifting his backside and legs. Elijah squeezed his erection with one hand, the other pressing into the generous curves of Sean's cheeks, before sliding between to push at his balls. Sean sighed his pleasure. Elijah kept up the dual assault until he felt the other Hobbit stiffen in the pleasure of completion.

They floated lazily in the pool, idly caressing each other. Sean moved under Elijah and with some difficulty gathered him close so that they were floating one on top of the other.

"We're gonna start to prune," Elijah said eventually.

"There goes the romantic mood," Sean muttered. He wrapped his arm round Lij and swam them back to the bank. It was then they realised they had no towel. Elijah told Sean to sneak back to camp and get one - Sean told him what he could do to himself. They found a nice big rock and curled up together in the sun, letting Lothlorien's ethereal light dry them.

Sean dozed contentedly, soothed by the constant bird song and Elijah's heartbeat beneath his ear. He woke slowly and stretched. The sun was lowering and the light was dappled in rose as well as honey. He kissed Elijah's chest and thought about waking him. It must be - what? Instinctively he looked at his watch and laughed when he saw only his bare wrist.

He eased Lij away and went to the water for a drink. The birds had stopped singing he noticed. Some sixth sense prickled.

He whirled round just in time to see Gollum leaping towards Elijah.

"Hey! Get off him you fucking freak!" He raced back but too late. Gollum's eyes had gone flat and he was hissing like a tea kettle, his bony fingers wrapped round Elijah's throat. Lij was gasping for air, trying to pound on the skinny shoulders.
Sean hurled himself on the creature which still didn't let go. He could hear its furious whispers: "Where iss it? Nassty Bagginses. Where is the preciousss?"

Lij was going blue and had stopped struggling. His glorious eyes were bloodshot. Howling with rage, Sean hooked his arm round the thing's skinny neck and yanked. There was a sibilant, choking sound then Gollum slumped lifeless.

Sean dragged the pitiful creature off his lover and, heart in mouth, checked his vitals, wishing not for the first time that he'd taken that First Aid course his mother was always muttering about. Elijah's breath was coming in raspy gusts but at least it was coming. For something to do and not caring how many rules it broke, he gathered the Hobbit close, stroked his forehead. Elijah stirred.

"What happened?" he rasped.

"Hang on a sec." Sean padded over to the pool and scooped some water in his hands. Lij drank gratefully, collapsing back against his friend's welcoming warmth.

"You okay?" Sean asked, carefully examining his neck - like he'd know what to do anyway.

"I'm fine." Lij crawled over to Gollum's lifeless form, still keeping hold of Sean's hand as he did so. He poked the body experimentally.

"So that's Gollum?" He touched it gently, frowning slightly. "He looks so helpless," he said at length.

Sean regarded him with some asperity. "It didn't look too helpless when it had its long fingers round your throat."
Lij sent him a quick smile of gratitude but returned to his contemplation of the creature. "I know. But it was the Ring that made him like this." He closed the staring eyes with finality and then got up. He looked down at himself and realised he was still naked. So was Sean.

"Suits you," he sniggered.

"Yeah? Should have seen the view I had when I was trying to get the freak off you!"

 

It was that night that Galadriel showed Elijah the Mirror. She appeared as she had in the film, an ethereal figure dressed in white leading him without words to a moonlit glade. He knew what he would find there, remembered with sore wistfulness how the Fellowship had referred to the Mirror as the Birdbath of Galadriel. He approached the small dais and looked in wonder at the real Mirror. Galadriel regarded him without expression but he felt that his every anxious thought was known to her.

"Lady Galadriel, I'm not - " He was going to tell her he wasn't Frodo, that the quest didn't belong to him but her voice, as sweet as summer rain, filled his mind.

"Welcome, Elijah Wood."

His stomach tightened and suddenly it was all too much: the quest, the Ring, Ian. He stood there tears falling while the Lady of the Galadhrim watched. He remembered what Frodo had said to Galadriel, how he had doubted his courage, and he remembered her answers. Portraying Frodo's anguish and fear in the film had not been difficult; he'd thought of the Shire and how much Frodo had to lose and how small and useless against the forces of darkness he must have felt. In fact the scene had really affected him for days after. Participating in it for real, beneath the stars and in a sorrowing land, was crucifying.

"I can't do this," he whispered.

"Then the quest will fail." Galadriel indicated the Mirror with a graceful gesture.

He allowed his eyes to be drawn into its depths, at once captivated and afraid: He saw Ian as clearly as if the old knight was stood next to him and he saw Sean, caked in mud, crying. He saw Sean Bean falling to his knees as an arrow sliced into him and saw him raise his head to look directly at Elijah. Other images darted past too fast for him to see but the final image was the great Eye and a swirling pattern of moving air like an airborne whirlpool.

He stepped away dizzily, the Ring pulling at his neck. Galadriel regarded him inscrutably.

"I know what it is you saw," she said and in any other situation her quoting lines from the book so glibly would have been irritating.

"What is the Portal?"

The Lady glanced away. "It was forged in the Beginning by Aule. It was not in the Music of the Ainur and Iluvatar forbade its use for years uncounted. "

The names were obviously supposed to mean something to him. He winced.

"The Valar on their high mountain have participated in the fate of Middle Earth only twice," she continued with something like worship in her eyes, "the sending of the Istari is one, the activation of the Portal is the other."

"And if the One Ring is destroyed, what happens to the Portal?"

Galadriel regarded him levelly. "Even the Wise cannot tell, Elijah."

He felt the Ring grow heavier on its chain and withdrew it, holding the simple band out on his hand. The night had been filled with a thousand crystal voices and the chirrup of insects but now all sound died and the shadows lengthened. Galadriel regarded the Ring with something akin to yearning and for a moment he was overcome by a furious jealousy.

"The time of the elves is passing," he said, deliberately goading, "would you not take the Ring to save your people?"

When Frodo had offered her the Ring in the book, she had been transformed into what she would become if she were seduced - a dark queen more terrible than the morning and the night.

Here in this unnaturally silent glade where Elijah could sense all creation waiting for her answer, it seemed that she could rip the earth apart with just the merest look. She stared at the Ring, devouring it, and the Ring quivered on Elijah's hand as though trying to reach her. And then the moon reappeared and the voices surged into a hymn of adulation and celebration. Galadriel smiled and bowed her head in acceptance of fate.

"I pass the test. I will diminish and go into the West and remain Galadriel."

**9**

They seemed to spend weeks in the timeless forests of Lothlorien, weeks of healing and strengthening. Although they went out and about either in pairs or groups during the golden days, by some unspoken agreement they shared the evenings together when the stars would shimmer above silvered trees and a thousand voices would fill the air.

On their last evening Galadriel presented them with their gifts and bade them farewell; most of them wept at the notion of leaving the most beautiful place they would ever see. Anduin lay before them and the certain knowledge that they would soon have to break their fellowship grew heavier with every mile. They had all taken boating lessons on set and found the light elvish boats responsive and manoeuvrable. Even the Hobbits could sail them with ease. They sailed hard, wanting to cover as many `leagues' (Viggo had an obsession with calling miles leagues nowadays) as possible. After the long slogging marches when Elijah had felt that he would collapse at every step, sailing a boat was child's play.

Perhaps it was the enforced inactivity but more and more the Ring called to Elijah. It had become an obsession. At night, when sleep would not come, he would succumb to the haunting voice and just sit and stare at the Ring, marvelling at its perfection, drinking in the play of fire that only he could see. And then reason would return and he'd curl up in mortified disgust at his own weakness.

Lij felt Sean squeeze his shoulder and gratefully he leaned back against his lover, felt the naughty man slip a hand under his shirt to fondle warm skin - shame about the mithril shirt then.

"Try to get some sleep. Lij, I know the Ring kept you awake most of last night."

"What, and miss the Argonath?" Elijah mocked in a light tone.

Sean rolled his eyes. "I've never understood why Aragorn gets so excited by that. Probably just an excuse for him to get portentous - he does that a lot in the later books, as I recall. If you wanna see lumps of rock carved into men, I'll take you to see Mount Rushmore. Go to sleep."

Sean had his own worries to mull over. He wasn't a natural worrier - he much preferred the expediency of burying the worry in the far reaches of his mind in the vain hope that it'd go away - but time and again he found his thoughts returning to Gollum. He thought back to that afternoon by the pool and again couldn't shake off the feeling that something portentous had happened. He remembered the moment struggling with Gollum with crystal clarity. It had been like he had been removed from himself and was watching as a bystander. Standing there detached from his body, he
had had the leisure to think, to plan, to decide. It had been like the whole of creation had frozen, waited with bated breath for him to decide what to do - spare the thing or kill it.

In that eternity of a second, images tumbled like falling rain inside his head, images of Gollum: Shelob's lair, Frodo's suffering in Cirith Ungol because of the creature's betrayal and the final show down on Mount Doom. It was like fate was purposefully confronting him with the reality of Gollum's importance.

He had looked at the images - and denied them.

He could rationalise and justify til the orcs came home by saying Elijah's death would have heralded the failure of the quest but he knew in his heart that the only reason he had killed the miserable freak was his love for Elijah.

He had believed wholeheartedly, in that frozen moment, that he and Lij could make it through Mordor without any assistance. He had looked upon Cirith Ungol and believed that Gollum's death neatly removed that destiny from their path and he had looked out on Mount Doom and believed that Elijah would not need Gollum, that his lover would remain faithful to his vow.

But something had been planted in his heart that second - something of doubt and deep unsettlement. He gathered the sleeping Elijah closer and went back to trying to ignore his worry.

They had wanted Elijah to stay put, to sit around the campsite almost under guard for fear of orc attack but that had got old pretty quick. They'd stopped for a hot meal about noon, all of them welcoming the chance to stretch their legs, and Viggo was having a heart attack at the thought of the Hobbit collecting firewood all on his own:

"I can look after myself - no amount of armed guards is going to help where I'm going - so back off," he'd said ungraciously, irritated by their overprotectiveness but irritated even more by the small dry voice inside him which said they were probably right.

So he went to collect his firewood. He half expected to see Boromir come walking towards him and he suddenly remembered how much fun he and Beanie had had acting those scenes. The Yorkshireman had purposefully got as many leaves and twigs stuck in his hair as possible - until PJ had shouted at him. Of course the scenery was different here - one of countless little copses which dotted the riverbank. But the sun was shining despite the autumnal colours and it was easy to forget the burden, listening to the chirrup of birds.

A branch broke and just for a second panic seized him for as large as life striding towards him was Beanie. Despite himself Elijah took an involuntary step back, fingered the Ring nervously. How could he have been so stupid as to leave camp? How could he have been so stupid as to assume that the events of the book would not suck him in?

"Hi Lij. Can we talk?" Beanie had his hands away from his body.

"No." His hand closed on the comforting weight of Sting. But Beanie sat down on a fallen log some metres off, still giving off none threatening vibes, his body language open and unaggressive.

"I'm not Boromir, Lij."

"You follow his fate."

Beanie smiled a twisted smile. "Bloody hope not," he growled and perversely the earthy retort helped. Lij found himself drawing nearer.

"Lij, I meant what I said after Khazad Dum. I'm not Boromir. I'm not going to try to take the Ring. But, Lij," he paused and speared the Hobbit with a piercing look, very practical but with a well of sadness behind, "the Ring is pure evil and we're all treating it as though it's not. We all blithely swear that we can resist it - but I can hear it in my head, Lij and I know the others can too."

Beanie seemed to take a while to collect himself. "We're nearly at Amon Hen - day after tomorrow at the latest. Don't ... don't let circumstances make the decision for you."

"What would you suggest I do?"

"Leave. Now. I mean soon. Tonight." Beanie caught his arm, squeezed it hard. "Go before somebody does something they'll regret."

Elijah frowned, struck by the raw pain in Sean's eyes. He suddenly remembered Galadriel's words. `The fellowship is breaking. One will betray you.' He had thought she referred to Beanie but now, looking at the pain filled eyes, he wasn't so sure.

"I'm afraid," he said finally.

"Tell me about it!" Bean leapt to his feet, a caged animal suddenly. Lij watched him with mounting bewilderment - it was more than the lure of the Ring affecting him. Bean paced back and forth for a while before turning back to Elijah.

His voice was very steady, very serious. "Leave tonight, Lij. For all our sakes, leave tonight."

Before Elijah could ask what the hell was wrong, he spun round and left the copse. The Hobbit stared after him and for a moment - though he knew it was ridiculous - the thought struck him that he would never speak to Sean Bean again.

**10**

There had been something of desperation and resignation in Beanie's voice when he told Elijah to leave. It left the younger man shaken but in no doubt that his friend was right. The long hours of paddling down the River until they made camp for the night were fraught with inner turmoil and that cold fear in his belly which had never really gone away.

Ahead of him lay the long road to the most dreadful place on earth and he had no idea how to begin to deal with that knowledge. The idea brought him out in a cold sweat of fear - but it was the finality of it, the certain knowledge that nothing he could do would change his doom, that frightened him the most.

He looked round the campsite that night - his last - and tried to memorise his companions, their body language, voices, interaction. Belatedly he realised how much he had taken their friendship for granted and the regret he felt at knowing that he could not thank them - that he had left it too late - was an additional ache in his heart. He had never known the human heart could take such pain.

He felt even worse when trying to convince his friends not to camp by the river. For him and Sean to slip away quietly, it was necessary that they got a good head start - he couldn't risk someone waking up and seeing their boat sailing merrily away. Besides Orlando's hearing was way too sharp, he'd be certain to pick up on the sound of splashing water. Eventually they settled in yet another copse sheltered from the elements and safely away from the River. The hours past miserably slowly until at last their friends turned in for the night. Elijah held on tightly to Dom as he faked sleep, willing the other Hobbit to somehow discern his love and friendship. Viggo's watch ended and he woke Sean who was, of course, already awake. The Hobbit glanced over at Elijah, seeing the blue eyes full of pain in the fire's light.

They waited.
When they were sure Viggo's breathing had evened out, Sean ghosted away. They had agreed to leave it a few minutes between his and Elijah's departure in case one of their friends stirred at the noise. Elijah crouched by their bags, miserable and aware of tears stinging in his eyes. He counted to 300 in his head and slowly stood up.

But he couldn't do it.

He looked down at the sleeping bodies of his friends and again thought about the terrible things that lay ahead. He gazed at Beanie. The company had been adamant that Sean's death would be avoided - after all there was no need for a valiant last stand to defend Merry and Pippin - and yet Elijah could not shake off the feeling that Beanie himself thought differently. It had been the same with Ian.

He had to go. He lifted the packs inch by inch, wincing as Sean's cooking utensils jangled in the still night. No-one moved. With a last longing glance, Elijah crept away from the fellowship and, on soft Hobbit feet, made his way towards the River.
Unfortunately geography had never been his strongest subject and it soon occurred to him that in the tangle of undergrowth and look-alike trees he had gone the wrong way. He indulged in a few minutes of inventive swearing. Then a shadow emerged in front of him - it was Viggo.

"Where are you going, Lij?"

"I need some time alone to think," he hedged, painfully aware of the packs he was carrying. He smiled his best innocent smile; the one that worked miracles on set when he fluffed a line.

Viggo was not deceived. "You're leaving."

"I have to. The Ring will tempt you all! I have to go now while I still have the strength." The Ranger was staring at the chain round his neck. "Look after the others for me, Vig."

"You mustn't go," the Dane stated flatly. He seemed to swallow hard, tear his gaze away from the Ring. There was a battle being fought behind the dark eyes but Elijah was too immersed in his own agony to realise.

"There are other ways. Other paths we might take."

The words sent a tingle down the Hobbit's spine but he couldn't remember where he'd heard them. He had to leave now - he didn't have time for this, it was too painful.

"Don't make this any harder than it already is, Vig. Aragorn should understand - "

"I'm not fucking Aragorn!" Vig's eyes were suddenly furious, irrational. "I'm Viggo Mortensen. You're not Frodo Baggins, you're Elijah Wood but you don't remember that do you?"

"Of course - "

"No, because the Ring is killing you, Lij. It's making you forget who you are. Like it's killing me. Aragorn is suffocating me to death. I can't think straight - this isn't me. We are losing ourselves. You're not Elijah. I look at you and I see Frodo. Where's Elijah? I'll tell you where - dying, buried alive by the power of the Ring. We were wrong to stay in this reality."

His words were almost incoherent but there was a wild look in his eyes which froze Elijah's heart.

"We should have teleported back straight away before the Ring could snare us. We're playing its game, we're servants of its power, no better than the ringwraiths."

"What do you suggest then?" If he could keep him talking long enough, he might be able to slip past him.

"You can save us. The portal. We can go back to our real lives. We have no responsibility here. This is Aragorn's fight, Frodo's fight. Not ours." Viggo's gaze slipped to the chain again.

"The Ring can open it." He said it almost caressingly. He took a step forward, his eyes full of lust. Elijah slithered back, grasping the Ring tightly.

"Your head's screwed, Vig. Think what you're saying!"

Viggo drew his sword, his eyes suddenly flat. "Open the portal, Elijah."

He made a move to escape but Viggo followed, his eyes glinting, his body language that of a hunter closing on its prey.

"No!!"

"You miserable little freak! You'd keep us here - all of us! Locked up inside these bodies."

He didn't have time to think about the parallels between Boromir's betrayal and what was happening now - he spied a copse of trees and fled. He could hear Viggo following him, swearing at him and knew it was just a matter of time before the Ranger caught him. He had no choice.With a despairing cry, he put on the Ring.

The transition sent him to his knees. The landscape around him seemed to blur and distort as though his perspective of near and far was wrong. He could see shadowy shapes all around but could not recognise them as trees. His hearing was equally distorted like he was under water.

And terrifyingly he could feel evil, it nipped at his feet like hounds from hell, gibbered at the corners of his mind, squashed out his sanity. His vision seemed to be shrinking like he was looking through a tube. The Ring exulted. It sang of his death.

He could clearly see the Dark Tower, rushing towards him and he reeled back, falling again. The Tower inspired such terror that his heart nearly stopped but the vision pulled him on, ruthlessly, maliciously delighting in his fear. He saw the Eye wreathed in fire and this time it looked at him, saw him, read him.

Then a voice, a sonorous commanding voice, cut through the terror.

"Elijah!"

That was all it said but the use of his name - his real name - gave him the strength to resist. Summoning the last of his will he yanked off the Ring.

 

When he could focus on his surroundings he found he was lying under a tree - and orcs were closing in on him. He struggled to his feet, screamed for help, banged Sean's cooking gear to raise the alarm. Sting glowed coldly as he drew it. The orcs snarled at him, moved in closer. There were at least 10 of them and - for he was good at counting - only one of him. He hollered again and - from terribly far off - he heard the horn of Gondor cry in answer.

The first orc attacked and there wasn't time to think about all the pretty moves Viggo had patiently taught him these last few weeks. There was only time to parry the thrust clumsily. He staggered back. The other orcs, apparently, didn't think he was worth their time and effort - they just watched their colleague appreciatively. It snarled at him again and the foul breath made him gag. Again the orc flicked out at him and again he replied instinctively.

It occurred to him then what was happening - it was toying with him, enjoying the sport.

Then all heads snapped round as the horn sounded again - very close. Elijah took advantage of the orcs' confusion and stabbed his opponent through its guts. Bean sprinted towards him, his great sword swinging effortlessly through the air. The orcs no longer looked confident. A few slunk away. Bean flicked him a quick glance.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes. Where are the others?"

"Coming. I hope." Bean cut his way through to stand next to his smaller companion.

"You have to go."

"I know. The Ring - it's taken Viggo. He wanted me to open to portal with the Ring so he could be Viggo again."

Bean swallowed hard, his eyes intent on the orcs.

"I warned you, Lij. The Ring corrupts. It attacks the weakest link in the chain. In the book that was Boromir, in this reality it's Vig. See that space there - yeah? - when I say now, start running."

They both paused as a crash heralded the arrival of more orcs. Lots more orcs. The Ring trilled and Elijah knew, suddenly, that it had been his wearing of the Ring that had drawn the vile creatures to him.

Bean's expression was determined but he was breathing fast. "Ready? Now!!"

Bean whacked the nearest orc on the head with his shield, simultaneously slicing at its companion with his sword. Elijah darted through the gap, terror lending speed to his flailing feet. He heard Bean's cry and spun round. Bean was following through the gap.

For a moment - just a moment - Elijah thought he was going to make it then a sword sliced into his shoulder. He shrieked and fell to his knees.

"No!!!" Elijah started to run back but Beanie stopped him with a look. There was knowledge in those eyes, a sore proud determination.

"Go. Lij."

Bean hauled himself to his feet and slew another two orcs with one powerful arc. But it had taken the last of his energy. He stood weaving on his feet, staring stupidly at his enemy, his breath rasping. An orc pulled back its bow and aimed. Bean faced it, too winded to resist. The arrow ripped through his chest and he fell like a puppet whose strings have been cut, another groan of pain ripping from him.

His face was a bloody mess as he met Elijah's gaze for the last time.

"My death - Not in vain - Go - "

With a howl of anguish, Elijah took to his heels.

**11**

Sean Astin had never felt so nervous and on edge - this was worse than auditioning. Elijah was nowhere to be seen. It shouldn't have taken this long. Ten minutes max to creep away from camp and down to the River. Something must have happened.

His first thought was to go back to camp but he resisted the impulse. There could be all sorts of reasons for Elijah's tardiness - someone might have stirred at Sean's leaving, Lij could have gone the wrong way - anything. He waited another frantic ten minutes. After fifteen he began pacing.

Again the urge to return to camp but again he quashed it. He had to remain at the boat. Elijah had to leave tonight, he had no choice - no amount of argument could change that - therefore at some point he had to return to the boat. If Sean went dashing off, he could easily miss his friend and Elijah might feel forced to go without him. No, he had to wait.

Dom and Billy ran wildly to the River. All had been chaos. They remembered waking to Orlando's cries as the camp was attacked by orcs. Viggo, Sean and Lij were missing. The two warriors had held the orcs off easily enough until they had heard the sound of cries and crashing metal - Elijah yelling for help. For a moment frozen in time, Beanie had seemed to sag then, with a cry for Orlando to stay with the Hobbits, he'd dashed off in the direction of the sound.

The Breaking of the Fellowship had begun.

It had been patently obvious that Orlando wanted to follow his lover but despite their insistence that they could look after themselves, he had refused to abandon them. It had taken the horn of Gondor to finally break his conviction.

They'd tried to follow him but he was sprinting on the wings of fear and they were short-legged Hobbits. At some point in the chase, a band of orcs had cut between them and Dom and Billy had been forced to take a new direction. For the next hour, that was all they seemed to do - dodge orcs. It was only by pure chance that they found themselves dashing full tilt down to the River.

It was there they saw Elijah and Sean. Sean was holding Elijah close and the younger Hobbit was sobbing as though his heart would break. The pair turned at their madcap approach.

For a moment the four Hobbits stared at each other: Sean determined, Elijah anguished and Billy bewildered and confused. Dom smiled - almost. He grabbed Elijah roughly to him, kissed him, hugged him again. He stroked back Elijah's tangled hair, held his gaze as though assessing his courage.

"God bless," he said and let go.

Billy approached more reluctantly.

"I hate this - I want you to know that," he said and the four Hobbits folded into a four-way hug.

There was the sound of orcs approaching. They disentangled themselves quickly, Sean and Dom pushing the boat into the river. Elijah gasped - there was no way his two friends could escape in time.

"Get in!" he shrieked as an arrow whizzed past his ear. "You'll be killed!"

Dom seemed to hesitate as though drawing courage then he shook his head. He locked gaze with Elijah.

"Go."

"No! There's too many." Elijah grabbed frantically at the oar but Sean pulled it from him, his expression resolute. He began rowing out into deeper water. Billy seized Dom's sleeve, meaning to start him running but Dom held his ground, his eyes intent on the orcs.

"What the hell are you doing?" Billy screamed above the sound of iron shod feet.

"Getting captured."

"What! Are you mad?!" Billy made another move, Dom hugged him roughly, spoke urgently, savagely.

"They made their choice, Billy. Now it's our turn. We have to rouse the Ents." Dom didn't look at him but he could have sworn his friend closed his eyes for an instant. Understanding dawned. He cast a last look at the rapidly disappearing boat then at the orcs.

"Right. Let's see if we can convince our friends here to give us a lift."

 

Beanie lay where he had fallen, fighting with his lungs for just one more breath. He couldn't die, not yet. He had to wait for Orli. The pain was severe. He had never in his wildest dreams imagined pain like this. He'd broken his leg once playing football and had suffered with an abcessing tooth for two days but they had been minor irritants compared to this.

He wondered idly if Ian had felt pain as he fell down that bottomless pit. The old knight, no doubt, would understand the freezing terror Bean had felt when confronted once and for all by the irrevocable destiny which had called to him from day one. He'd tried to cheat his fate of course. He remembered the company's staunch denials that he would end up like Boromir and, for a time, he had clung to their belief. He felt no urge to wrest the Ring from the Ringbearer and the two junior Hobbits would not require his intervention. There was no reason why he should die. But then Ian had died and there had been no reason why he should follow his character either.

After that it was a gradual acceptance like a cancer patient waits for death. He wanted to be brave and noble and yet he had been so scared. He'd been afraid of the pain but mostly he'd been afraid that he wouldn't be able to go through with it, that somehow despite his determination to sacrifice himself, he'd fail. Dying in battle when you took the risk but knew you had a chance of living, when the adrenaline took over and you didn't have to think deep and meaningful thoughts was one thing - to stand by and actually allow yourself to be executed was quite another. To knowingly keep still and let the enemy slice into you - ah, that took courage.

Bean had a vague belief in God; not a fire and brimstone religiosity but a wistful hope that there was something more than the pitiful existence on earth awaiting humankind. But what would happen to him here in Middle-Earth? What would happen to his soul, to the essence that made him Sean Bean? Did it flitter away to his heaven or did it return to his real body in that other reality which seemed so far off? It was an issue which had been occupying his thoughts of late. Perhaps his soul was trapped. Perhaps it was supposed to go to the place where Men's souls went but couldn't because he did not believe. Perhaps only darkness awaited him, an eternity of darkness.

The pain was easier now. His heart was slowing down as he lost blood and he felt rather warm and fuzzy like he'd downed five Bods in a drinking competition with Orlando. He had to hold on though. He would have smiled if he'd had the energy: he had to stay alive for his deathbed scene with Orli. He'd pictured it in his mind's eye hundreds of times, rehearsed the speech he'd make. Orli would sob and hold his hands while he looked all noble and spoke portentous
words over him. Unfortunately he couldn't remember those words - he should have written them down. There again, he didn't think he could remember how to read either. There was a snapping branch and he knew it was his Orli. He managed that smile now, tasted blood on his lips.

"You're late," he whispered.

Orlando fell to his lover's side, clasping the bloody hand, crooning nonsense words, stricken to the heart.

"No, Seanie, no! You'll be all right. We can heal you ..." He trailed off feeling utterly useless. There was no 999 service here, no miraculous cures, only the reality of his lover dying in his arms.

"Hush my love." Bean grasped his hand even tighter, the light was fading in his eyes.

"Love you. Always."

Orlando swallowed back the howl of despair, kissed the lips already going cold.

"Always." Bean whimpered as a shaft of pain lanced through his broken body. Orlando stroked across his face, knowing his elvishness could ease the torment.

"Seanie, look at me." The eyes flickered only marginally. He stroked the cheeks as though willing the skin to remain warm.

"Wait for me."

Perhaps it was only because he willed it but he thought he saw an answering glimmer in his lover's eyes before the light dimmed forever. He howled. Crushing the lifeless body close, he screamed on the very edge of insanity. Now he understood the curse of his people. He had an eternity to live through before he could see his love again, millennia upon millennia stretching before him, and the image of his dead love never fading like it would for humans but remaining forever as sharp as it was now.

**12**

I betrayed Lij. I betrayed them all. I killed Sean Bean. The knowledge was a constant hard knot in the pit of Viggo's belly. Worse, there was no deathbed scene where Beanie could selflessly absolve him. He had found his friend dead in Orlando's arms, too late for anything.

They spent hours sat by the river after the funeral, neither able to think straight. Orlando looked like he was comatose, his eyes dull, unfocused. And all the Dane wanted to do was dig a pit and bury himself. It was because of his weakness that Bean had died. Because he had betrayed Lij that this generous warm soul had suffered the agony of dying alone. He would never forgive himself.

How long he sat grieving, immersed in self-recrimination and loathing, he knew not but eventually he stirred. He took a deep breath, another. The ache was still there but a new determination was growing.

He remembered a line of Aragorn's from the book, something about doing without hope. Very well, he would do without hope. He could fall apart later - and intended to do so in dramatic fashion - but right now there was a quest to fulfil. Elijah Wood had been sent to the hell of Mordor because of him, his weakness, and the best of men had died. He would not allow their sacrifices to be in vain.

Aragorn's path was set before him whether he liked it or not. The Ranger was too important to the success of their quest for Viggo to give up now. He stared out across the river to where the badly hidden boat could be seen. He would ensure Elijah and Sean were brought home to safety; he'd prove himself. He noticed Orlando, still frozen in grief, and somewhat ruthlessly dashed cold water from the River in his face. "Get up," he stated.

"Leave me."

"No."

"I said leave me." Orlando's eyes met his, full of a hurt beyond enduring.

"Elijah needs us. We have a promise to keep."

"I renounce my oath! I don't care about Elijah. All I care about lies dead."

Viggo grabbed him, suddenly furious.

" Do you want his fucking death to be in vain? He died to give Elijah the chance to destroy the Ring. For him to do that depends upon us fulfilling our destiny too. You say you loved Sean? Prove it."

"You fucking cunt!" Orlando went into an inventive tirade of expletives, the tears streaming down his face.

Viggo was relentless: "Imagine those arrows slamming into his body, Orlando, the sword slicing flesh and bone. That is what he endured for us. Now get up. You come freely or in chains. It makes no difference to me, elf."

Viggo released him forcefully, slammed his pack at him.

"Start dealing, Orlando," he said coldly. "We're not playing at elves anymore."

Orlando, as anticipated, acquiesced. It wasn't like he had much choice.

"What do we do now?" he asked listlessly.

Viggo had been thinking about this question - it was a lot easier losing himself in the what ifs of predestination than dwelling on the past. He'd examined every possible scenario and its consequence a thousand times, plotted every course, every action and reaction, until his head spun.

In the book, Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli followed the orcs who had captured Merry and Pippin, only to turn aside from their self- appointed task when Gandalf met them and convinced them to go to Rohan instead. In other words their chase across god knew how many leagues had been in vain.

Viggo remembered how he had always been irritated by Aragorn's choice on Amon Hen. From a cold logical point of view, trotting after two easily expendable Hobbits for thousands of leagues at the expense of following the Ringbearer seemed like lunacy. Now, confronted with the same choice, Viggo found his perspective had changed: It was no longer Merry and Pippin who were suffering in captivity but his dear friends Billy and Dom. He wasn't sure if he had the guts to abandon them to their torment just because his counterpart's attempt at rescue had been unsuccessful.

He also had to fit Ian into his equation. Assuming the knight had been regenerated (what was this, Doctor Who?), where were they supposed to meet him? It seemed they could waste time they simply did not have wandering about Middle Earth attempting to second guess each other over their meeting point. Would Ian still expect him and Orlando to meet him in Fangorn or would he be of the same opinion that chasing after the orcs was an exercise in futility and expect to meet them in Rohan? They should have thought about this, decided on their path a long time ago.

Orlando called his name, repeated his question. Viggo stared at the River wishing someone else could make the decision for them - Ian or Elijah, anyone but him who had failed so miserably.

Finally he made his decision - now he truly understood the frustration Aragorn had felt. It was the definitive no-win scenario.

"The fate of the Ringbearer is in our hands no longer. We follow the orcs. See here." He knelt on the sand and drew out one of the maps Galadriel had given them. After a few minutes of trying to orientate himself, he pointed to their present location.

"We're here, just above Rauros. Directly west is the River Entwash. That is the path the orcs take. When they reach the Entwash they will follow its course northwest to Fangorn. We follow them."

Orlando hugged himself, his grief a knife in his heart. "Let's got on with it. This place stinks of death and despair."

Allowing Sean and Elijah to depart and subsequently holding off the orcs to give them time to make good their escape had seemed noble and self-sacrificing to Dom at the time. Confronted by Elijah's inner anguish, it had been easy to let go of self, to put their friend and his suffering first.

Now, in the cold light of day, and the reality of the orcs, their decision to actively seek capture seemed like insanity. There was nothing selfless and grand in being jostled by foul pawing orcs; there was nothing worthy in running for miles and miles and miles on bleeding feet, being scourged by whips a Spanish Inquisitor would have been proud of and there was nothing self-denying in running so hard that you threw up.

They had been mired in Middle Earth months and, while they were unquestionably fitter than they had been, still they were not physically capable of running thirty or forty miles at a time. Dom's lungs were on fire, every breath was a torture. He had passed out time and again, only to be brought sharply back to his reality by cruel whips.

No, there was nothing remotely tragic and noble here.

The orcs terrified him. They reeked, positively reeked. For the first few miles he'd gagged and vomited at their appalling unnatural stench until, blessedly, his senses had got used to it - marginally. They were coarse, inhuman. During the long march, Dom had seen things that he had never even dreamed were possible: The orcs had caught up with a tiny band of itinerant farmers. They'd brutally massacred them. It had been sport to them, watching a farmer slither away on only one leg. It had been hilarious impaling a child through the abdomen and hearing her sawing screams. And it had been the height of entertainment for them to rape a woman, twenty orcs, one after the other, using her until she had died of haemorrhaging.

He and Billy had been thrown to the ground, their arms and legs tied to a fallen tree while the orcs took their pleasure and they had clung to each other, screaming in useless fury and disgust, knowing there was nothing - nothing - they could do. And the very worst of it - oh God! - was that a small part of his brain was relieved because it gave him a brief respite from the endless march.

It was fully dark before the orcs deigned to stop. He collapsed next to Billy. His friend looked dreadful - his face tear-strained, pinched, his eyes dull. All they could do was hold each other, too weary even to cry or speak. They ate the orc flesh the beasts threw at them and drank the foul smelling water.

Ugluk loomed over them menacingly, speaking in such a strong accent that they weren't even sure if he was speaking Common. They cowered back from his wildly gesticulating arms but he grabbed Billy, prised open his mouth with enough pressure to almost break his jaw and poured an evil brew down the Hobbit's throat. Dom offered no resistance but still nearly choked. But the orc brew bubbled and fizzed in their lungs and removed the very edge off their exhaustion.

The breaking of the fellowship seemed like it had happened in another life time to another person - which was ironic considering their present reality. It was then that Dom discovered just how much the human spirit could take. He had always wondered - in a vague sort of way from the comfort of his armchair - how he would conduct himself if he were ever thrown into a life and death situation. It appeared his day dreaming was going to get an answer.

Long relentless hours of filming had bred some form of resistance into him and the months existing in their new reality had honed his survival instincts even further but his participation until the breaking had been minimal. He'd been a back seat passenger content to let Ian or Elijah make the decisions. It hadn't been a Hobbit picnic by any means - not when he remembered Ian's fall so vividly - but he had let the emotions touch him as little as possible.

Now he and Billy were faced with harsh, technicoloured, one hundred percent reality which demanded their full, heart and soul participation. He gripped Billy's hand, kissed the sweaty skin.

"This is almost as bad as watching `Big Brother', isn't it?" Billy murmured and Dom felt his heart swell with gratitude.

"Yeah." He pulled his best friend into his arms, held him tightly while far above the stars glimmered.

They were woken by savage kicks and they grovelled like the animals they had been reduced to, pleading for mercy. Ugluk pulled them to their feet and the terrible march began again. The second day brought no let up in the pace but Hobbits were resilient creatures and Dom found he was not going to die after all. The thought did not comfort him. Strangely they were allowed to run next to each other that second day. It helped a little if only that they could encourage each other to keep going and struggled valiantly themselves if only to relieve the anxiety for the other.

"Dom?"

It took a moment for the Hobbit to get enough breath together to answer.

"Here."

"Need to leave the brooch." Billy's eyes were terrified which Dom could fully understand. `Orcs' and `mercy' just didn't fit in the same sentence - they were hardly going to treat Billy's detour philosophically. He shook his head.

"Not worth it. Too dangerous." But he could tell that Billy wasn't going to listen to him. He tried to grab him, to convince him that his idea was utter stupidity but the orcs had had enough of their conversing and jostled them apart. Dom kept his gaze fixed on Billy's jaunty blue coat, willing him not to do it.

 

"We cannot hope to match their speed," Orlando said after the first half hour of running like all the demons of hell were following them. Viggo rested his hands on his knees, trying to remember what it felt like not having to gasp for breath.

"Why not? This is Aragorn's body, that is Legolas'. We should be able to physically endure what they did. It's a question of mental stamina, of belief. I will not allow myself to fail." He forced himself upright and glowered at Orlando. "Let's go."

They ran. Viggo had the leisure to examine his motivation extensively during that nightmare sprint. It was true he was worried about his friends and also true that, since he occupied Aragorn's body, he should be able to take advantage of the Ranger's stamina. He knew neither of those points was driving him on. He ran because it meant he didn't have to think, all he had to do was fight for breath and put one aching foot in front of the other. He ran because every step took him further away from the place where he had failed his friends and he ran because he had to prove himself.

Orlando ran lightly at his side. The elf's breathing was slightly heavier than usual but his face was free from sweat and he covered the leagues without strain. Only his eyes showed the inner turmoil which had nothing to do with the crazy pace. Orlando had volunteered to take watch. Tolkien had said that elves did not need to sleep but Orlando was not a true elf. Over the last few months he had discovered that his elven body did not require sleep and could function normally without any rest whatsoever. His mind was another thing. Elven minds needed sleep no more than their bodies but his mind was not elven - at least not entirely. The essence of what made him Orli craved human sleep as a respite from thinking, from that jumbled mass of opinions, facts, ideas, memories and feelings peculiar to the human species. That was what human sleep did for the psyche: soothed the turmoil with cleansing dreams, closed down the rational mind into sweet oblivion.

Elves did not sleep in the human sense nor did they dream. They past the darkness in something akin to waking dreams where their minds would wander through memories passed on from elf to elf - memories of Valinor and the Light of the Trees - and their own experiences under bough and leaf. And before Sean's death, Orlando had embraced his new elven heritage, enjoying the experience of seeing places he'd never known through another pair of eyes. But now his dreams tormented him and he craved the sweet oblivion of human sleep.

Orlando could remember every word his lover had said to him, every gesture, every touch. He could recall with complete and utter clarity their time together, what it had felt like making love beneath the sun of Lothlorien, what his lover's body felt like as he penetrated him. He remembered it all as though it was happening now, as though it would be happening for ever.

Billy ran on. He found formulating his plan helped to distract himself from the frantic pace. The problem was he had never read the book, neither had Dom. They had only filmed the Fellowship up to now. They knew vaguely what happened and - most importantly - how it ended and every now and then Ian had entertained them by reading great chunks aloud but specific details were vague Pippin dropped his brooch for his friends to find but Billy had no idea how the Hobbit got away or more importantly what the consequences were.

He spent the rest of that day waiting for a chance. He could feel Dom's eyes on him the whole time and every time they managed to exchange glances the other was violently shaking his head at him. Billy chose to ignore him. It was about time he began to take some responsibility for this bloody awful quest. Before Khazad Dum, Ian had made the decisions, after Elijah and Viggo. At the River, Dom had made the decision to seek capture - now it was his turn to do something.

His opportunity came as the orc party came to a narrow ravine covered in a light mist in the moonlight. The party slowed its pace and became a little more spread out. The dark shapes of the orcs about him grew dim as the mist swallowed them.

This was it.

His heart was hammering even more and he had to fight the desire to be sick. He was becoming disorientated too and horror gripped him that he would split the wrong way. But he remembered what Beanie had suffered and all at once he was veering off. He heard muffled curses and scuffling feet and poured all his energy into running faster. He gained the height of the depression, where the air was clear, and looked at the brooch.

He thought again of Beanie and how brave he must have been. He thought of Ian and he thought lastly of Lij and Sean crawling their exhausted way to hell on earth. His turn had come. He scrabbled wildly on the floor, hearing his pursuers coming closer and at last found a sharpish piece of flint. Hurriedly he scraped the flint over the back of the brooch, every second expecting to feel the digging claws of an orc on his shoulders.

It was crude but he was sure it was legible. He threw the brooch away from himself as he saw two furiously cursing orcs emerge over the lip of the ravine. He held up his hands in surrender. He just hoped his friends would find the brooch and would do as it said.

And, as the whip lashed down hard across his shoulders, he hoped even more fervently that Fangorn was near.

 

It was late afternoon on the second day as they were leaving the Downs surrounding Anduin that they found the brooch. Viggo had never been this close to collapse. Time and again he had stumbled, only to feel Orlando's arms wrapping round him preventing him from falling. He had always thought the expression `legs like jelly' was rather an untidy simile but now he understood how accurate it was.

Viggo picked the brooch up, staring at the thing as though it somehow could link him with his missing friends. Orlando looked over his shoulder at the orc path ahead, not wanting to wait as his heart told him the orcs were getting further and further away. Viggo turned the brooch over, his heart missing a beat.

There was something carved faintly, obviously hastily, on the back. He held it up for Orlando to see and the two puzzled over the markings which were obviously new. The intricate design of the brooch itself didn't help their deciphering but the marks looked like a short diagonal line \ , a tiny gap, a long diagonal line running the opposite way, a badly formed `B' and `N.'

"B is for Billy surely." Viggo held the brooch to the fading light but shrugged. "What about the N? Nargothrond? Noldor? Ninny Nanny Netticoat?" Try as they might, they couldn't think of anything pertinent beginning with N.

They returned to the first two marks, trying to match them to every letter in their own alphabet. That didn't work either.

Could they be runes?" Orlando suggested.

"Billy doesn't know any runes. Is it supposed to represent a location, a key?"

"The time is ticking away - "

"Of course!" Viggo hit the side of his head, grinned inanely. "It's a tick. The two marks are supposed to be joined but he couldn't because of the brooch's shape."

"All right!" Orlando slapped him on the shoulder.

"A tick BN. The tick means a positive thing. Perhaps he just wants us to know he is okay. Billy is okay."

"Possibly - but what about Dom? Why has he not mentioned Dom?"

"It's not like he had time to write `War and Peace,' Vig."

Viggo frowned, unable to shake the feeling they were missing something obvious. They sat for hours puzzling over the cryptic message, wishing Ian's quick mind could help them for the old knight had been a dab hand at crosswords and regularly completed the Times' crossword in the time it took the rest of the fellowship to work out the first clue. Viggo smiled a little in recollection and wondered if Ian was even now galloping over the grasslands on a white steed. Almost as though the thought had summoned it, a voice seemed to fill his mind. He almost choked on the lembas he was eating.

"It is not a B but an R," he said surprising himself as well as Orlando by his own conviction.

"How do you know this?"

He grinned impishly. "Ian told me."

The elf raised a devastating eyebrow at him.

"The inscription says tick, RN. The RN stands for Rohan. Billy is telling us to go to Rohan - to abandon our pursuit of the orcs and turn west to the Golden Hall."

Orlando stared at his friend for a moment, inwardly digesting the revelation. It felt right somehow. He reflected with sore pride that his lover was not the only one capable of self-sacrifice.

"Very well," he said, "Let's go." Orlando slid gracefully to his feet, resolve in his eyes for the first time.

"Right." Viggo took a last long look at the wide orc path they were abandoning then turned resolutely away. "Let's *not* go hunt some orc."

 

To say the orcs were not impressed with Billy's detour was an understatement. They were vastly, monumentally unimpressed. As they frogmarched him back to the restless line of orcs, his captors licked a whip round his ankles.

"Enough!" shouted Ugluk lumbering over. "He's still got to run a long way yet."

He yanked Billy up off the floor by the simple expediency of using his hair.

"But that's not all. I shan't forget. Payment is only put off."

There was a sick almost hungry light in the orc's subhuman eyes.

There was hope, it seemed. At first he thought his eyesight was playing up but as they drew ever nearer the greenish mist on the horizon coalesced into the welcoming bulk of Fangorn. Billy almost wept with relief. Perhaps, just perhaps, they'd escape into Fangorn before ... anything happened.

He hadn't forgotten the intensity in Ugluk's eyes and was convinced that something unpleasant would happen come nightfall.

Holding any kind of cohesive conversation was difficult given their breathlessness and the jostling orcs but during that long day they had conferred as best they could:

"What happens when we get to Fangorn?" Billy asked one of those times. His head felt so swollen that he wasn't sure he could actually understand his friend.

"Riders come."

The orcs jostled them apart at that point with much application of the whips. It was some time before they could speak again.

Dom continued his answer: "Big battle. M and P escape."

That thought brought Dom up short - until an orc reminded him that slowness was rewarded by a whiplashing. How did their counterparts escape? They hadn't filmed the scene yet and wouldn't be for some time since PJ wanted them to film in sequence and Treebeard's CGI design was not ready yet. He tried to think back to all he had overheard, all Ian had told him about the book but his mind remained blank. The Hobbits had been tied so how had they escaped?

By this time, Fangorn was appearing before them and he was getting very nervous. The Riders, where the hell were the fucking Riders?

Evening drew in and still no sign of the Riders. Billy and he were almost wild with apprehension and a whole army of what ifs marched through their brains. Billy felt sick. He'd worked himself up all day ready for their escape, convinced himself that everything would be okay but the hours ticked by and night was drawing inexorably closer. He didn't think he could take his hopes being dashed. Ugluk heaved into view and sneered at them. Billy closed his eyes.

"Pay back time, halfling," he snarled. He grabbed Billy by the hair and Dom by the same expediency and dragged them to a small dell behind the main encampment where he threw them unceremoniously to the floor. They tried to speak, the words jumbled and barely coherent as they tried to reason with the monster: Saruman would want them whole, untouched.

Ugluk ignored their pleas and threats, just smiled a bestial smile. It grabbed Dom's hands and looped the bonds around a tree branch, giving the Hobbit the same consideration as it would have done a fly. Its casual disregard for his humanity sent Dom wild with anger. Billy huddled where he had fallen trying to remain inconspicuous but the creature came over to him, its eyes afire with hunger. It yanked him to his feet - again by the hair - and positioned them so what they were doing was in Dom's line of sight. Dom fought against the bonds like a Hobbits possessed, uncaring of the pain. Then, holding Billy with one had as though it were holding a feather, Ugluk leisurely undid its breeches.

Oh God.

**13**

 

They saw the eagle high above them and Viggo remembered something about it being one of Gandalf's spies. They jumped up and down, waved and yelled but the great bird soared away.

Viggo decided he hated eagles.

They had veered away from the orcs' path, taking a direct route to Theoden's city. They crossed the Entwash at midday. It was cold and fast flowing and their attempt to cross it by wading across with their packs held above their heads met with spectacular failure. Orlando only just managed to save their pack as Viggo was swept off his feet. Swearing and cursing they resorted to Plan B which was to build a small raft for their packs and swim across pushing the thing in front of themselves. They spent too long gathering branches and painstakingly lashing them together with twine. It looked hopeless but it floated. They crossed with the minimum of difficult though they were both short tempered and cold by the time they reached the other side.

Orlando was just helping Viggo out of the water when there was a flash of lightening and they both fell in again, scrabbling furiously for a foothold at the same time as trying to draw their weapons. There was a hooting sonorous laugh and from behind a scrubby bush stepped Ian McKellan. He stood on the dry bank, gleaming in his white robes, roaring with laughter. Viggo's eyes narrowed and he asked the knight in no uncertain terms if he'd like to die again. Eventually the knight helped them out, though he sniggered a few times in the process.

By now the relief at seeing their friend had won over the chagrin and both Viggo and Orlando were beaming fit to burst. Ian hugged them hard, wet clothes and all. He handed them warm blankets and gratefully they retired to his small campsite to dry off. Shadowfax stood under a small tree along with two other horses.

"Dear boys, it does my heart good to see you!" Ian announced. Orlando grinned at him from around a mouthful of grilled fish - his third. Viggo hugged the knight tightly and Ian smoothed back the dark hair, his eyes very understanding.

"I know," he murmured for Viggo alone.

"I won't ask what happened," he said at length, all traces of humour gone from his face. Orlando looked swiftly away and the old man gripped his hand.

"For now let us be happy that we are reunited. I know you are both all in. Try to get some sleep while I take watch. No arguments."

Viggo retired immediately but Orlando couldn't. He curled up next to Ian finding the wizard's presence soothing. Ian remembered with a jolt of pain that Lij had assumed the same position. He stroked a reassuring hand over the blond's hair, puffed on his pipe trying to marshal his thoughts.

"It might help to talk about it," he said at length.

Orlando cringed. "Sean is dead."

Ian closed his eyes, hearing again his own last words to the Yorkshireman.

"I know, my boy."

Orli snuffled and, smiling a little, Ian produced a hanky for him out of thin air. Orlando didn't bat an eyelid at his show of magic, blew lustily.

"We .. we were lovers, you know," he said haltingly.

That had been rather obvious, especially to a gay old man.

"Orlando, my dear boy, he loved you with his whole heart. Remember that."

"Mornie utulie," Orlando said into the shadows. "Darkness is falling."

"Yet hope remains. There is more at work here than the will of evil."

"I can't let go, Ian. I see him all the time. Even now, talking to you, I see Seanie just as clearly. I feel his hands on my body, hear his voice!"

"Then you are fortunate. It is the gift of the elves."

"It is a curse!" Orlando flung himself to his feet, began pacing. Ian had never seen the point in pacing.

"For the rest of my life I will re-live his death."

"And his life." Ian caught the slender elf by the shoulders, drew him close. Orlando began to weep uncontrollably, deep gut wrenching sobs that tore him apart.

"If we do not activate the Portal, Ian, I will spend the whole of eternity grieving for my lost love. For all eternity."

Ian rocked him gently, spoke soft words over him and the young elf slumped into a healing sleep.

 

Ian was not at all surprised when Viggo rolled out of his blankets once Orlando was asleep.

"Do you know what happened above Rauros?"

The old man pulled deeply on his pipe, giving no answer. Viggo paced a few steps, stopped, paced again.

"I ... tried to take the Ring."

The old man regarded him without surprise, waited patiently. Viggo collapsed next to him.

"I couldn't think anymore, couldn't resist. I felt like Aragorn was destroying my sanity. Then a madness came over me and all I could think of was getting home." He took a shuddering breath. "I killed Sean."

Ian raised an eyebrow. "Did you stick your sword in him?"

"No. But I killed him just as surely."

The wizard puffed on his pipe some more, lost in thought.

"Viggo I have walked through valleys low since our parting. And I am .... changed." A spasm of pain flew across the wise face. "I know what happened above Rauros - "

"You know? How?"

Ian almost twinkled at him.

"I'm Ian the White now, dear boy," he replied urbanely. He sobered, considered taking Viggo's hand, thought better about it and finally patted his shoulder. "I saw how the Ring tested you all. I understand."

"How can you say that? I'm a monster!"

"You made your choices, Elijah made his, Sean - the dear soul - made his. More than one pebble changes the course of a river."

Viggo blinked at that one.

"If Elijah had been strong enough to bring you back to the light, he might not have fled. If Lij had not cried for help, Beanie would not have found him. If Beanie had not been willing to hold off the orcs, Lij might not have escaped. If there had been fewer orcs, Beanie might not have died. If Orli had found his lover quicker he might have prevented his death. Shall I go on?"

"I still failed them - in their hour of need I failed them." Viggo turned his head away aware of a tear trickling down his cheek.

"I can't give you absolution if that is what you seek, Vig." The wizard let his eyes wander to the shining stars of heaven's field.

"I feel so dirty!"

Ian sighed.

"I said this to Elijah. I will say it to you - though I abhor repeating myself. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us. You can sit here mired in self pity or learn from your fall and move on."

His startlingly blue eyes seemed to reach right into Viggo's heart.

"For two months you have fought yourself in this land. I suggest you start believing in yourself - start believing that Viggo Mortensen is strong enough to walk the path appointed him." He stood up to put more wood on the fire. "Think about what I said, dear boy."

 

Billy's face was crushed against the thing's groin. He couldn't breath and choked at the overpowering odour. Ugluk shook him until his teeth jangled.

"Suck it or I take him." It accompanied its guttural words with a gesture at Dom and a rocking of the hips that left Billy in no doubt what it was going to do. But he couldn't do this. The very idea made him faint with disgust - like that time his mate had dared him to eat a cow's eyeball. Again he was shaken.

"No!!! Fuck! No, Billy don't. Not for me. NO!!" Dom screamed.

He had to do this. The alternative was unthinkable. He purposefully sent his mind away - like he did when he went to the dentist and the sadist revved up his drill - and gulped the cock into his mouth. It tasted so bad he gagged but Ugluk had other ideas - his mouth was prised open and the thing thrust all the way down. He couldn't do anything, couldn't stop it - he hammered his tiny fists on its back but he was so small and the creature held him easily. It began pistoning its hips in and out, still keeping his jaws open to stop him biting - and he felt himself grow dizzy from the lack of air. Fainting would be a good thing around now.

The thing closed its eyes in delighted animalistic lust as it rammed itself into Billy's mouth. Dom watched in fascinated disgust. Metal glinted on the floor by the breeches - a knife. He flicked a quick glance at the orc, saw it was still engaged and carefully stretched out his hobbit foot. The bonds round his hands held him securely enough to the branch but allowed him to move to some extent - by stretching every muscle and ignoring the blood from his wrists he was
able to toe the breeches towards him. Ugluk was grunting now. Dom kept one eye on the creature while he knelt down at the very limit of his tether and pulled the knife out of the pocket.

He didn't wait to plan, he simply cut his bonds with deadly accuracy and fell on the beast. He stuck the knife in hard, angling it to produce as much pain as possible. Billy collapsed, gagging and choking. Ugluk roared and would have smashed the life out of him had he been a second slower in dodging. The orc wobbled precariously and, enjoying every second of his revenge, Dom split it right across its belly. For a moment Ugluk stood there frantically trying to hold onto the soft intestines slithering over his hands then it toppled over with a satisfying bubbling sound. Dom kicked it ferociously then heaved Billy to his feet. The other Hobbit was in deep shock so Dom grabbed him by the arm and led him at a brisk canter towards the forest. Just as they reached the first trees, Dom heard the hammering of hooves - the Riders had arrived.

But too late.

 

"Where do we go now?" Orlando asked after a tasteless breakfast of lembas. The elven waybread was nourishing and brought to mind summer evenings under silvered trees - but Orlando craved ham and eggs and bagels and a stiff cup of coffee. The people of Middle Earth hadn't got around to cultivating the coffee bean.

"We ride to Theoden's Halls. The eagles report the orcs are nearly at Fangorn. I sent Eomer's raiding party after them with special instructions to have a care for Hobbits." Ian shaded his eyes with his hand as he gazed in that direction. "For some reason my heart is troubled for our young Hobbit friends."

Orlando and Viggo approached their horses with some reluctance. They had taken equestrian lessons on set but these horses looked nothing like the docile mounts they were used to riding. Viggo fell off a few times but Orlando soon discovered a natural elven affinity with his mount. Ian looked just as uncomfortable as Viggo - it made Orlando laugh to see the great White Rider bouncing gratingly in his saddle, his legs sticking out. Shadowfax bore the idiosyncrasies of his rider with massive dignity.

They rode the whole of the day and well into the night, gritting their teeth against unmentionable places rubbing painfully against their saddles.

"If we ride much further, Arwen and I won't be able to have children," Viggo grouched at one point, sending Orlando into peals of laughter.

As they joggled and jolted through waist high grass, Ian filled them in with the politics of the Rohirrim: How Theoden had been a great King until Wormtongue had begun poisoning his mind. The Golden Hall of Meduseld was situated on a green hill with the White Mountains providing a stunning backdrop behind. They arrived by morning, following the winding way up the green shoulders of the hill to the wide windswept walls and gates of Edoras. The guardsman eyed their arrival with suspicion. They gave their names and, after an age of waiting, were admitted.

With a jolt, Viggo and Orlando realised the Rohirrim were the first humans they had set eyes on since their arrival in Middle Earth. Elves they had seen in Lothlorien but their sojourn there had been like a dream and the elves, though hospitable, had been distant and aloof. These grim men of the Rohirrim were, by contrast, earthy and real - they smelled of sweat and metal, they slouched and swore and they laughed and joked. The two friends, the Man and the elf who
used to be a man, relaxed.

As they were led through the courts to the entrance to the Golden Hall, Hama the doorwarden greeted them and bade them remove their weapons. Viggo glared at Orlando as he unbuckled Anduril. "If you think," he whispered to the grinning elf, "that I'm going to get all portentous and sentimental over removing it like Aragorn does, you've got another think coming."

Ian handed over Glamdring and prepared to enter the hall. Hama stopped him.

"Your staff. Forgive me but that too must be left at the doors." Ian assumed his best school teacher's voice - the one that sent mischievous Hobbits scurrying to do his bidding and rattled off one of his favourite Gandalf lines: "I am old. If I may not lean against my staff, then I will sit out here until it pleases Theoden to hobble out himself to speak to me."

The guard boggled at him, bowed and let them enter.

They walked through the hall, trying not to seem overwhelmed by the richly carved pillars and tapestries. Viggo assumed the easy swagger of Aragorn and looked down his nose at the various guards they passed. They approached the dais where sat Theoden with his snowy white beard. Eowyn, dressed in virginal white stood by his chair watching their arrival with interest, while Wormtongue lounged at his master's feet. They waited for the introduction but none came.

"Don't just stand there," Orlando said through a polite fixed smile, "say something kingly."

Viggo glowered at the elf but he strode forward and assumed the now-do-it voice of Aragorn at his most majestic.

"Hail Theoden son of Thorin!" he began and saw Ian wince at the mistake. He carried on.

"I am Aragorn son of Arathorn - "

" - And he has many names," Orlando muttered loud enough only for Viggo to hear. He was going to skin the elf alive later.

" - This is Legolas Greenleaf the elf and Gandalf the White who has returned to you on the winds of the storm!"

Theoden was unimpressed by his hyperbole.

"Your welcome is doubtful here, Gandalf Stormcrow."

"You speak justly, lord," Wormtongue lisped.

Ian did not deign to acknowledge the pale faced man. He addressed the king, calling on all his years with the RSC to lend gravitas to his words.

"The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late." He closed his eyes for a second as though gathering himself then to the accompaniment of thunder he raised his staff and was transfigured: Gandalf the White, mighty in power stood before the stunned assembly. The hall became as dark as night and Wormtongue sprawled down the stairs unconscious.

Orlando was seriously impressed. Ian tipped him a wink.

"Now, Theoden son of Thengel," he flickered a glance at Viggo who steadfastly ignored him, "will you hear my counsel?"

Slowly Theoden left his chair and followed the three actors to the sunlit court. Eowyn made to follow them and Ian bowed to her with all the massive courtesy of a medieval knight. "Stay, lady, I will care for him."

The woman acknowledged him with a slight inclination of the head but her eyes remained fixed on Viggo. She was practically eating him alive with those eyes. The Ranger felt himself stir and quickly looked away. It was hardly prudent for the future King of Gondor to be making sport with the Lady Eowyn when his true love Arwen was sitting in Rivendell industriously making banners for him. He saw Orlando looking at him with some curiosity and returned the gaze impassively.

Ian was stood close to Theoden, talking with some urgency. Then the old wizard laid his hand on the ancient head and spoke a word of command. The sun seemed to come out from behind the clouds and Theoden stood up straighter, his staff falling unneeded from his hand, the wizard's touch healing him of infirmity and hopelessness.

Things ran smoothly after that. Viggo and Orlando watched with mounting wonder as Ian conducted the affairs of Rohan. The old man had always seemed at home in Gandalf's body but now he fair crackled with mystery and energy, declaiming the archaic speech and mangled grammar of the regenerated wizard with relish. Yet the old roguish charm and twinkle that belonged to Ian alone remained.

Eomer returned to pledge his sword and the Rohirrim mustered ready for their assault on Saruman. Ian also allowed Wormtongue to slink off to Isengard. Viggo pulled him aside.

"Was that wise?"

Ian patted his shoulder.

"Necessary, dear boy. Our friend still has a part to play in this story - he is needed at Isengard to throw the palantir."

"I'll personally climb the stairs of Orthanc and claim the snowglobe myself if you want it that much. Could be useful as a paperweight, I guess. But Wormtongue makes me uneasy."

Ian gazed at him. When he spoke, it was as if he were testing him: "What would you do, son of Gondor? Kill him? Would you take a man's life in cold blood?"

They rested at Meduseld that night. Eowyn herself escorted them to dark, richly furnished rooms. Viggo bowed low and with some difficulty managed to extract himself from her. Orlando came into his room a few minutes later, looking as restless as an elf could look.

"I still cannot sleep, Vig," he said, casting himself down on the bed, staring up at its ornate canopy. "I dare not be alone."

Viggo clambered to sit next to him. Ian had given him hope by the Entwash but he still felt driven to prove himself. He looked at the hurting eyes of his friend and again felt the sting of bitter tears that he was the cause of this elf's suffering.

"Then stay here."

The elf nodded and relaxed marginally.

"What of the Lady Eowyn? Would you not rather have her to bed?" he asked and he was the old gossiping Orli who couldn't keep the smallest secret. Viggo had called him the walking noticeboard back on set.

"Leave off, I'm Aragorn son of -

"Arrowrot," Orlando finished with a snort of laughter, dodging the pillow Vig threw at him. "You know, I think Ian's enjoying all this - the chance to get all Shakespearian with his speech. Declaiming suits him."

"Truly," Viggo agreed. Orlando laughed his rich laugh.

"Truly?! You're doing it now. You're not going to start sounding like Aragorn in the third book are you? Ian read a few pages to me once - it was like listening to Hamlet or something. Did the guy swallow a dictionary?"

Viggo grabbed Orlando and began tickling him. They ended up Viggo on top of the elf, both laughing. There was a pause as though they were both suddenly aware of where this might lead then Orlando reached out hesitantly to touch Viggo's lips. They locked gazes and Viggo saw the raw emotion that nothing in this world would ever heal.

"Make me forget. If only for a moment. Please, Vig."

He shook his head. "You don't want that of me."

But Orlando had slipped his hand into his shirt, pressing it against his heart.

"You are so alive, Vig, and I am so dead inside."

"What about Sean? Orli, for God's sake."

The elf clutched at his shoulder with his free hand.

"Let me tell you about my lover, Viggo. He lies dead and I see his death every time I close my eyes. I face eternity without him." A tear sparkled on his cheek and, wonderingly Viggo feathered it away. "Make me forget."

It had been too long and he had always found something captivating about Orlando Bloom, even before his transformation into this graceful elf. And it all hurt so much. He hadn't slept properly in months and was tired beyond normal physical extremes by their recent journey.

Nothing made sense to him, not even himself. They were so very far from home. He yearned for the normality of driving a car, sleeping in a bed, talking to people from the same country. He wanted to switch off, veg out in front of a mindless movie. And he was heart sick of the keening guilt. Perhaps making love to Orlando would take away the pain if only for a little while, help them both forget. He knew he would regret it but he couldn't resist the appeal in the other actor's eyes. He even rationalised that he owed this to Orlando, that his treachery required he make restitution in some way. After all he was the one to cause the light to fail in those elven eyes.

He undid his shirt, let the garment fall to the deep rugs. Orlando watched him intently. There was nothing of love in his eyes, only a deep need to forget. The place was unnaturally silent. Orlando made no move to stop him so he peeled off the silvery grey jerkin, leaning down to suck on the elf's collar bone. Orlando stood with his innate grace and for a time they stood there, Viggo aroused with the fire of passion, Orlando docile as though nothing touched him.

Viggo settled them on the bed and began toying with the lithe young body. Orlando moaned in the appropriate places and his body responded with shivers but Viggo felt his mind was still leagues away by Sean Bean's dead body. He gritted his teeth and took possession of Orlando's mouth, using every trick he had ever learned to provoke a response. He nipped at the lower lip, demanded entry, suckled hot and wet against the other's tongue. He could feel the tension in
Orli's body, the skin hardly warm. He might as well have been sleeping with a corpse! Anger stirred.

"There is no love in your arms! This cannot be!" He leapt to his feet, a caged animal.

Orlando seemed to snap to himself. "Please."

"You don't want this. Get out." He threw his tunic at him.

"I do. I want you, Vig."

"You don't know anything about me!" He hauled the half naked elf to his feet, tweaked his nipple until it hurt. Orlando's eyes clouded with bewilderment and Viggo felt like he was torturing a puppy or something. But the anger - no, the guilt - wouldn't let go.

"Here you are grieving for your lost love and you come to me for comfort." He laughed without humour seeing a light shiver run down the elf's fair skin. "Let me tell you whom you seek for comfort, Orlando."

Orlando's eyes were wide, begging him not to.

He ploughed on: "I betrayed Elijah, I betrayed your Sean!"

The elf reared back a little and Viggo felt savagely glad. He suddenly wanted to tell him everything if only it would make the pain go away.

"I wanted Lij to open the Portal with the Ring so I could go home, leave Aragorn behind. He ran from me, put the Ring on. Sean died defending him from the orcs I had driven him into." He slammed Orlando against the wall. "That is who you come to for comfort."

"I don't understand you anymore!"

"It was me who sent that sword ripping and slicing into his flesh. It was me who slammed that arrow into his guts. He died nice and slow because of me! Because I was weak! Do you hear me, elf, do you hear me!"

"No - I won't listen to this!"

"Is that all you can say? Well, pin back those pointy ears: I killed Sean! I killed your fucking lover!" Each word was punctuated by a shake and Viggo pressing his body hard against Orlando's. The blond squirmed and writhed.

`Hit me, for God's sake!' Viggo's mind screamed.

Orlando's fist connected blessedly with his face and sent him reeling. He levered his shoulders off the floor, blood dripping onto the rug as he raised his face to the elf.

"Is that the best you can do, you cunt! You can do better than that! I killed him!"

His head was spinning and his eyesight prickled with shades of red but - ah the relief - he didn't have to think, he didn't have to rationalise. Orlando's face was almost unrecognisable but there was a gleam in his eyes which Vig recognised. He waited for a second blow and was not disappointed. Orlando slumped forward, fighting with himself then in a wailing voice, he said, "Why do you torment me like this?" Smiling in secret triumph, Viggo weaved to his feet, a nasty sneer on his bloody lips.

"What, have I ruined your poise, Elf-boy?" His hands fell on an ornate glass vase and he sent it crashing against the tapestried wall.

"Have I punctured your rose-coloured picture?" He was fighting for breath now, his chest heaving and the intolerable grief was back. "I killed them, for fuck's sake!!"

Orlando's furious gaze met his, there was high colour in the elven cheeks. He pulled his knife out and for one blissful moment Viggo thought he was going to release him from his torment but instead the elf slashed across the palm of his own hand.

"Do not come near me. Ever. Do not speak to me. Ever. You killed the only person I have ever loved, condemned me to an eternity without him." Orlando grabbed him by the hair, forced the pain filled eyes to meet his.

"We are finished - this I pledge. Come near me and I will kill you."

So saying the elf seized his abandoned tunic off the bed and strode from the room.

In slow motion Viggo toppled to his knees, weeping uncontrollably, his face contorted with the guilt and shame he didn't know how to face.

**14**

Dom pushed Billy by main force until he could no longer see the grasslands behind them, until all he could see on all sides was towering shadowy trees. Then he let the other Hobbit fall to his knees and he supported him as best he could while he was violently sick. As he got his breath back he detected the sound of trickling water and with much cajoling he managed to get Billy over to the River. He splashed water into his face, held his hands like a cup while the other gargled with it, trying to remove the foul taste from his mouth. Somehow, considering the panic of the moment, Dom had managed to snag up his pack and now he wrapped them both in his blanket while his friend shivered and spluttered and sobbed. He felt his own tears sting but he was too angry to cry - he wanted to hit things. Take out his pain and frustration and pity and .. he couldn't even name most of the emotions he was feeling - out on an inanimate object until he didn't have to think anymore. Until he stopped hurting.

What did you say to a best friend who had been orally raped? I'm sorry? You'll feel better soon? It'll be all right? There was nothing to say just as there had been nothing to say when Ian had died or when Lij had left. All he could do was hold Billy as he cried himself out and offer himself as a punchbag as the shock turned to consuming mindless violence. Dom looked round the still, earthy forest and thought about their decision above Rauros. It had been based upon the assurance that their escape from the orcs would lead directly to their meeting with Treebeard. But the forest remained disconcertingly empty of giant talking trees. He didn't even know if Treebeard was in this vicinity since his knowledge of the book was sketchy. The Ent had been pacing his forest when he saw Pippin and Merry - he could easily be patrolling in another part of the forest by now if their timing was not exactly synchronous with their counterparts. There was nothing to do but sit on a small hill and wait. They didn't speak, just sat there, silent, sunk in their own despairing thoughts.

Eventually, when the sun peeped through the canopy above, Billy roused himself. He looked round at the trees which almost seemed to be growing before his eyes. They seemed so healthy and alive and virile. "It's funny," he said in a controlled sort of voice, "I almost feel I like the forest!"

"Hooooom," rumbled a voice like a deep woodwind instrument, "Almost felt you liked the forest. That's uncommonly kind of you!"

Treebeard was something else entirely. Dom had never been able to visualise Treebeard. The notion of an animate tree was just too absurd, it didn't seemed possible for a tree to walk and maintain its dignity. He had been half expecting a child's notion of a walking tree where the trunk split into two for the legs and the only branches were the two which it used as arms. The reality looked so natural and organic that Dom was quite amazed. After introductions had been completed - and Treebeard had hoomed and hommed his way through the most chronic poetry Dom had ever listened to in order to confirm that Hobbits really weren't in the old lists - Treebeard lifted them into the crooks of his arms and strode - without any loss of dignity or believability - through the forest to his home Wellington or something like that. Billy slumped against the Ent's neck - trunk or whatever - and stared directly ahead from unseeing eyes. Dom flicked nervous glances at him and, upon one occasion, caught Treebeard's sad gaze. It was like the Ent knew or sensed what had happened to Billy. It made him feel slightly better knowing that this creature that had walked the forests of the world since its creation felt pity and empathy with a forlorn frightened Hobbit so far from home.

Wellinghall - he'd been close - was a delight and even Billy managed a slight smile. The entrance was through an archway of two trees which lifted their branches in greeting. Inside all was in shadow for it was late but they could discern what looked like a mighty table and a low shelf hewn from living rock. A spring of water fell splashing and splishing into a wide trough like pool and Treebeard went to stand under it, laughing delightedly to himself.

Dom and Billy had found the tranquillity of Lothlorien glorious but it had been like looking at an exquisite picture - a moment frozen in time. The trees there had been alive and they rejoiced but they were sad too. This forest was overgrown with creeper and fern and ivy and it gave off an atmosphere of aliveness, like every root and branch was breathlessly, joyously involved in living and growing. With the Ent's help, they sat on the table and tried not to notice how far down the fall would be. Dom was looking forward to his first drink of entdraught and could hardly contain himself when Treebeard brought it over. He was disappointed with the look of it but one sip had him in transports of delight. It tingled and teased along his nerve ending and he laughed - it was like those adverts for Heineken which refreshed the parts other beers could not reach. He wrapped his arm round Billy and was relieved to see some colour flushing the pale cheeks.

"Hey, what do you think of the entdraught?"

"If we could bottle it, we'd make a fortune." Billy managed a smile. Treebeard, who had been hooming about the place in a domestic sort of fashion returned.

"Hoom, my young friends, root and twig," - Dom never expected to take anyone seriously who came out with such a
phrase but coming from Treebeard it seemed to work perfectly - "I am going outside to stand under the stars to sleep. Where will you stand?"

Billy bit back a laugh. "Well if you don't have a coffin we can sleep in, Treebeard, we'll lie down to sleep, aye."

Treebeard's eye became very `now'. "I do not know what a coffin is but you can lie on the bed. Good night."

The two Hobbits watched the old Ent stride away, struck again by how fantastical he was and yet how natural. Eventually, Billy grabbed up their towel and pattered over to the large pool to wash. Dom read from his body language that he didn't want company so found some excuse to go outside for a while. Treebeard, stood under his shower regarded Dom sadly, his ancient eyes very present.

"There are many reasons, Dom, why the orcs, those hoom abominations, should be struck from the earth. What they did to Billy is one of them."

When Dom returned to the Ent-house, Billy was settled in the bed. He enjoyed his own bath, amazed when he was towelling himself dry that the orc weals were already healing from some property in the Ent water. He clambered with some difficulty onto Treebeard's bed, relieved when Billy moved in close.

"The taste's gone," Billy said at last.

Dom tried not to cringe. "Good. Billy, I think that was the bravest thing I've ever seen."

He'd seen Ian knowingly, willingly give his life for them and he'd heard how Beanie had done the same, not shirking from his destiny but embracing it. And he'd seen Elijah and Sean begin a journey that would tear their souls to pieces - and yet what Billy had done seemed like the supreme sacrifice. To submit to that bestial attack took courage Dom could never hope to emulate. Billy had known that dropping the brooch would probably mean punishment but he'd still willingly taken that path in order to aid his friends. Dom hugged him tighter, kissed his cheek.

"I'm so proud of you." Billy didn't meet his gaze and there was a sick look on his face but he did answer: "You'd have done the same."

"I'd like to think so." Dom tried to visualise such a scene but he couldn't imagine the courage it would take to die to self to such an extent. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

Please God - say no.

"You cannae want to know."

"I don't want to know, Billy but if you need to tell me, I need to hear."

Billy took a deep breath but shook his head. "I just want to forget it." He breathed deeply. "I like it here - it's peaceful and calming."

Dom got the hint. He recalled the old Billy, the jester always with a smile or cheeky remark, the goof who broke up tension and who could knock them back like a whale. So little of that Billy seemed to remain - he couldn't remember the last time he had seen him smile, really smile. Dom flung an arm over his head and prayed to whichever God was listening that this bloody quest would soon be over.

The Rohirrim marched the next morning. Ian had convinced Theoden to march to Helm's Deep with all possible speed and the newly invigorated king agreed, impressed by the wizard's foresight. Orlando rode his horse on one side of the wizard while Viggo rode on the other. Ian felt like he was in the middle of an electrical storm, the atmosphere was so charged. Viggo stared straight ahead but every now and then the wizard saw a shiver run through him and the flicker of his eyes in Orlando's direction. Orlando, who had a bandage over a cut on the palm of his hand, could have been carved from stone. Ian felt frustration well up. He needed these two warriors; he needed them focussed and committed for the long dark road ahead. He needed them bound by the same friendship and inter-dependance that had bonded Aragorn and Legolas. Something must have happened last night - and he didn't need his new gifts of prescience to guess it had something to do with Viggo's actions above Rauros. He tried a few forays in conversation, received only grunts or monosyllabic responses from Vig, nothing from Orlando. Eomer and Theoden seemed uncomfortable too and Ian saw the two exchange meaningful glances.

"I don't know what has happened between you two but it ends here. You have a duty to these people which I will not allow you to desert." He fixed them both with his best Gandalf glare, bushy eyebrows sticking out from the brim of his sparkly white hat. "And, need I remind you, a reputation to maintain."

"Very well, Gandalf," Viggo said in a dead tone.

"Legolas?" Ian stressed the name pointedly.

"As you wish."

It was slightly better after that. Ian could still sense the bitterness and betrayal between the two but at least they were acting like adults now, responding politely to questions and interacting with their peers.

It was late afternoon when they caught their first glimpse of Helm's Deep, some way in the distance. Ian felt memory stir and he knew he had to depart. Theoden and Eomer were talking to their kinsman Erkenbrand while the army rested.

"Theoden King!"

"Gandalf, what is your counsel this dark hour?"

"To ride to Helm's Deep with all available speed, Lord. The very storm of Mordor is on your heels. It will be a black night."

"Is there no hope?" Eomer asked.

"Hope springs eternal, Eomer. I must be away like the wind in the grass." He was quite please with that metaphor. "Many of your kinsman are scattered and afraid - I will round them up for your need for them is sore. My Lord Aragorn?"

Viggo seemed to snap out of himself. "Mithrandir?"

"Your hour is come. I charge you with the defence of Helm's Deep."

Viggo threw back his shoulders and Ian saw the spark kindle in his eyes.

"Today Anduril, the Blade that was Broken will be unsheathed. It shall be as you say."

Night had fallen but there was neither star nor moon as they came to Helm's Deep. Viggo had seen the set for this castle being constructed - or rather sets for Peter Jackson had ordered two scales, one for his computer generated images, one for the actors. The Dane had been looking forward to filming the scenes here - but he wasn't sure he wanted to participate for real. It seemed to him everyone was looking to him for leadership and he wasn't sure he was up to it. He was beset by worry but Ian relied on him and he had no intention of failing the company again. He directed the defence as best he could, (wishing he could nip a quick look at the book to assist him) arraying most of the Rohirrim on the walls of the fortress where four men could easily walk abreast. The hosts of Isengard were advancing in silence and their torches could be seen winding up the road in many lines. Coldly Viggo estimated the army was at least 10,000 strong. The army of the Rohirrim was less than three. Lightening smote the air illuminating a scene from hell: black shapes, squat and ugly were boiling and crawling over the first defence, breaking against it like a black wave. The battle of Helm's Deep had begun.

It was a no-win scenario from the start. Time and again the men of Rohan rallied to force back the enemy from wall or gate but how ever many they slew, the army before them seemed to grow rather than diminish. It was exhausting work, made harder by some trickery of Saruman's which increased the fear and the hopelessness. Orlando had spent all his arrows and was now using his long knives. His arms and chest were bleeding freely from hundreds of little slices where he had not been quick enough. And still the enemy came, slinging ladders and ropes over the high walls - when one was pushed away, another two seemed to take its place. Another unholy flash of lightening. Men wavered in their courage and he saw below a great fire blazing at the very stones. He heard Viggo crying "Devilry of Saruman! To the caves!" but he had no intention of following the order. In that moment it seemed to him he could put a swift end to this earthly torment. He thought of Sean and smiled.

"Your waiting is nearly over, Seanie!" he cried and dropped down among the orcs.

Viggo looked about him. Men and women lay huddled against the dank walls, too exhausted to do anything. Here and there groans of the dying could be heard. Theoden said there was provision for a month in these deep caves but there was no chance of escape, only a long lingering death. He was quite certain the orcs would wait them out. Oh God, Ian, where are you? he shouted inwardly. He looked round the dismal sight and realised Orlando was not among them. He strode to Theoden, a sixth sense telling him something was very wrong.

"Theoden King. Have you seen Legolas?"

The old man had streaks of blood and sweat running down his face and he leaned heavily on his sword.

"No, Lord."

Without a backward glance, Viggo was striding for the door. In his best `I shave in cold water with a big knife' voice he ordered the door be opened. Men scurried to do his bidding but he hardly noticed. All he could think of was his friend.

Orlando regretted his decision almost immediately. A red mist seemed to drop from his eyes. Sean would not want him to throw his life away uselessly like this. The orcs hissed and growled at him and he drew his knives. They were unimpressed. He fell back against the wall and slew two with a flick of the wrist but there were so many of them. One slashed him brutally across his chest and pain like he had never felt blossomed in his chest. He cried out.

"Orli!! Orlando! Where are you?"

He flicked a glance to the ramparts above and saw Viggo leaning at a precipitous angle. Before he could answer - and he wasn't even sure what answer to give - another orc sliced at him across the wrist and he dropped his knife. Then there was the impression of something black descending and a strangled `fuck ouch' as Viggo landed by his side, Anduril flaming in his hands. The orcs gibbered at the sight of the legendary sword and, more especially at the man who was wielding it. They backed off slightly.

"How bad?" the Dane asked.

"I don't know."

"Can you get up that wall?"

Orlando felt his strength sapping.

"I'm not Spiderman," he snapped a little peevishly. Viggo grabbed his arm tightly, his eyes intent.

"Start climbing, Orlando," he ordered in a tone that brooked no argument. While the elf made his slow ascent, gasping in agony at every step, Viggo turned to the orcs. He smiled and raised his hilt to his face in the ancient salute. A few moments later twelve orcs lay dead or dying at his feet and the rest were scrabbling away. "Good fight," he said laconically and, with some regret, he followed the elf to safety.

Orlando had sagged unconscious against the wall, his breathing harsh and ragged, one arm dangling uselessly at his side. A crimson stain blossomed across his tunic. Viggo wrapped an arm round him and by some miracle managed to get him to the safety of the caves. Lying him down in an out of the way cavern, he ordered bandages and water. Orlando was moaning in real pain now as he came round.

"It burns like hell fire."

"Orc blades can be poisoned." Vig sliced the tunic away and turned his head away at the extent of the damage. A wave of squeamishness assaulted him but he pushed it away. He could throw up later. Orlando had lost a lot of blood and, worse, it wouldn't staunch. He bundled cloths on top of the wound and applied pressure. Orli thrashed in pain and Viggo grasped his hand, feeling the unnatural heat.

"I am on fire!" Orlando wailed.

Viggo tried to soothe him but he was frightened too, he could feel panic beginning to grip him. He came to a decision then. For two months he had battled with himself in this land, battled against the man fate had destined him to be. No longer. He rested a gentle hand on Orli's forehead, smiled at him.

"The hands of the king are the hands of a healer. I know you feel I betrayed you."

"Yes, well that's one of the unpleasant side-effects of betrayal. Why should I trust you?"

"No reason. I failed you at Rauros - but it is time we both moved on, Orli. This battle is too important, too much rests on our shoulders. I do not deserve your trust - but I ask for it nonetheless." He stroked the elf's fair skin gently, feeling him shiver lightly. Orlando seemed to struggle with himself and Viggo saw tears fill those glorious elven eyes. Then he nodded.

Feeling like he was being tested, he rested a heavy hand on the elf's feverish forehead and willed him to heal. Nothing happened.

"Fuck it!" he swore in a most unkingly fashion. Orlando rolled his eyes, seemed almost glad. Viggo locked gazes with him.

"Stay with me. Fight."

He grasped the elf's slender hand with his free hand, held it over his own heart.

"Together. We must fight together."

It was like a door opening and suddenly Viggo could feel himself linked to Orlando. He could feel the elf's deep mourning but buried underneath that great capacity for love and life that had so captivated the cast back in New Zealand.

"HEAL!" he commanded.

He felt a tingle in his hand like static electricity and watched with amazement as Orlando's breathing slowed and his pain diminished. He moved his hand over the gaping wound in his chest and again the strange sensation tingled through him. It was like being emptied - like all his energy was flowing into Orlando. When he felt himself swooning, he pulled his hand away. The flesh had drawn together. He fumbled with fingers that felt as thick as sausages through his pouches til he found the dried up leaves of the athelas. The hands of the king are the hands of a healer, the old adage went but he was not Aragorn and he had never dared use the herb. He breathed over the withered leaves and tossed them into the hot water. All care seemed to lift from his shoulders as a refreshing vapour filled the air. Viggo bathed Orlando's forehead with the athelas, seriously impressed when he felt the elf's temperature reduce significantly.

"So what happened back there?" he asked to distract them both.

"I should be killing you about now," Orlando whispered hoarsely but there was a definite light in his eyes and perhaps just the beginnings of a smile on his lips. Vig snorted wryly.

"Do you want me to hold you up and swing your sword for you?"

As if in slow motion the blond drew the now exhausted Viggo down to lay by him, cradled the dark head against his breast.

"Thank you," Orlando whispered. As sleep came Viggo heard the elf begin to sing.

**15**

Sean preferred to forget the boat journey as quickly as possible. They were both in anguish at seeing their fellow Hobbits caught and hog tied, dragged away, knowing there was nothing they could do to help except get the Ring to Mordor as quickly as possible. He was crying in despair and frustrated anger as he rowed, Elijah curled up miserably next to him. They reached the eastern shore and tugged the boat up onto the shale. Elijah took a last forlorn look at the far away shore - there was no movement now, nothing to show what had happened there.

The Ring told him he would never see his friends again, projected evil sick images at him. He nearly collapsed. Sean caught him, dragged him to sit on a fallen log.

"What? What happened?"

Elijah pulled the Ring from its chain, stared at it. Sean shied away from the thing as if it were a poison snake. "The Ring. I know what happens to them. God, Seanie." The last was a wail of despair. Sean snapped his fingers in front of Lij's eyes breaking his concentration on the Ring. Almost like a sleepwalker, Elijah slowly put the gold band away. He took a few deep breaths like Ian had taught him.

"The orcs torture Billy. They make him ... " He stopped, unable to continue.

Sean squeezed his hands, fighting his own battle.

"That's just the Ring's sick game, Lij. Doesn't mean it happens."

"What if it does?"

"Then there's nothing you can do to stop it," he said, purposefully matter of fact, even callous. "But the Ring has shown you images before."

"I suppose. So strong though."

His hand seemed to reach of its own accord for the chain. Sean slapped it away.

"Seanie, I put the Ring on back there - when I was running from Vig."

"I know."

He kissed Elijah gently, smoothed the worry lines with his fingers.

"Don't worry about it - come on."

He pulled him to his feet and, still holding his hand, led him through the scrubby bush towards the tangled rocks and cliffs of the Emyn Muil. They spent the rest of the day plowing this way and that as they fought a path through the inhospitable land. Sean said they had to strike the western cliff face but doing so was another matter. It seemed to turn dark very quickly reminding them that autumn was fading into winter. They could not continue for all that they were fresh and willing, for the jagged rocks, blind gullies and sudden precipices were too perilous. They made camp sheltered from the worst of the wind in a niche below a glowering cliff. Elijah handed out the grilled fish he'd filched from the company and then they curled up together.

Elijah seemed restless, wistful. Perhaps even desperate as he hugged Sean tightly. Sean crooned soft words to him but the Hobbit remained unsettled.

"I can't get the Ring out of my mind, Seanie," he mumbled at length. Sean leered suggestively, trying to lighten the mood.

"I have a solution to that."

Elijah regarded him seriously then nodded. He began unbuttoning his shirt but Sean stopped him, taking over as he had done before. He blew gently across Lij's prominent collarbone while his hands massaged the smoothness of his chest, being very careful round the wound. Lij lay back, relaxed a little. He moaned as Sean suckled wetly on his left nipple, the sensation causing little sparks to ignite down his spine. Sean worked down to his midriff and began unbuttoning his pants. He slid a hand inside, pressed just there, low on his belly, feeling the muscles shiver and tense. He returned to the neglected nipples, biting and nibbling them until Elijah was writhing. He worked back up, enjoying the teasing, and licked long swathes up Elijah's neck, watching the Adam's apple spasm. He tongued across his jawline before fastening his mouth over those pert lips. Elijah hugged him close all of a sudden and Sean broke away enough to smile at him, reassure him. Elijah initiated the next kiss but it seemed rushed, desperate - so unlike the languorous passionate kisses in Lothlorien and on Anduin.

"Ssh, relax."

He smiled at his lover as he slid out of his own clothes. His penis rose against his belly and Elijah stared at it. Sean knelt down by him, urging him to lift up his hips. Elijah's eyes were luminous in the semi-dark. Sean worked the breeches off his lover's legs, tossed them away and settled between Lij's legs. His cock, however, was quiescent. He felt Elijah tremble and suddenly understood. He covered the Hobbit's exposed genitals with his hand, drew himself up to kiss his mouth.

"`S okay, it happens."

The younger man jerked at the soft words and his eyes were so hurting but he lay trustingly with Sean's hand there in that intimate place.

"I think it's the Ring. Because I put it on."

Sean kissed the tip of his nose.

"Yeah? Well, I bet it's never read the `Karma Sutra' like I have!"

He kissed him more deeply, really worked at it until Lij instinctively responded.

He spent what seemed like hours massaging the pale body, first with strong hands which dug into muscle and fat then with soft whispery touches which set nerve endings alive. He suckled his nipples - he had a thing about nipples - until Elijah cried for mercy. Sean smiled evilly and instead used his nails to score and scrape across the sensitive peaks. Elijah's hips bucked. Through it all, Sean left his hand between his lover's legs, covering him. It felt wildly erotic to do so. When he thought Elijah had had enough of the nipple assault he began on the pointy ear. He scraped the very tip with his teeth before pushing his tongue into the point. Elijah mumbled and fidgeted and Sean felt his cock twitch. Now he manoeuvred back between his legs, wanting to explore his lover properly. Elijah watched him - ah but he was beautiful.

"Open your legs for me, baby, I want to touch you."

Elijah lay down more fully while Sean got in nice and close. The younger actor raised his knees so they were lying in their own private world of intimacy. Sean eased Elijah's left leg away and
tongued him there where thigh and groin met, enjoying the trembling sensation and the tickle of Lij's pubic hair. He sent his sharpest nail down the line and Elijah jumped out of his skin. Sniggering, Sean wormed his way through the soft hair, so different to his own tangly crisp hair, to his lover's balls. Elijah swore. The Hobbit applied suction and cold air until his captive was positively squirming then he sucked the whole ball into the heat of his mouth. Elijah's cock was now definitely aroused.

He ignored it - though Elijah cursed him foully. He toyed again with his balls then, coaxing the Hobbit's knees further apart delved his tongue beneath to the rounded cheeks and his asshole. Elijah screeched and bucked, his own hand going to his throbbing erection. Sean pulled the hand away.

"Bad Lij. This is my play. If you touch yourself, I'll stop. Capiche?"

"You bastard. I'll make you pay, Astin."

"Yeah, what ya gonna do - make me go to Mordor?" Elijah's jaw dropped open and Sean took advantage of it to kiss him really really deeply. When he was sure Elijah had no more breath left, he pulled away.

"You gonna be a good boy?" he asked innocently.

Elijah glared murder at him but spread his legs wider in submission.

"Good little boys might get a popsicle when we've finished."

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" Elijah managed then howled in ecstasy as Sean slid a wet finger inside him. Sean watched him squirm for a moment then scraped his nail up the underside of his cock and across the top. The thing swelled and throbbed. He took pity on him and fastened his mouth round the hot head swirling his tongue round it, all the while working his finger in and out. Elijah didn't last long; a few final mindless thrusts and he climaxed hard. Sean tenderly nuzzled his spent penis.

"That," Elijah paused for a gasp of breath, "was amazing."

"One does one's best," Sean replied with modesty then his expression turned to one of deep need. "You gonna reciprocate, Lij, cos I'm bursting!"

Elijah's delicate features broke into an evil grin. "You expect mercy, Astin, after that?"

The next morning Sean decided they needed to talk about the road ahead. Elijah nibbled waybread and tried to listen - Sean was sounding like Ian in full `I am an Authority on Tolkein' lecture mode.

"I managed to get a good look at the elven maps in Lothlorien," Sean was saying.

Elijah twinkled at him.

"You had time in Lorien? Wasn't I suitable entertainment?" He laughed merrily when Sean deigned to blush. He kissed the Hobbit's cheek.

"What did you find?"

"The way to Mordor. Frodo and Sam spent days toiling through this place - the Emyn Muil - before they found a way out with Gollum's help." Again the name seemed to trigger something deep within him.

"Then they travelled eastish through the Dead Marshes hoping to pass through the Morannon - "

" - You do know that not one word of this makes any sense to me, He Who is Wise in Geography." Elijah slid his hand inside his friend's shirt, grinning mischievously.

" - But the Black Gate is closed. Gollum convinces - stop that, Lij - Frodo to go round the mountains there to the south and take the pass through Cirith Ungol." He swallowed, just the name made him feel sick but Elijah looked at him without comprehension. He took a deep breath, let it out impatiently.

"Didn't it ever occur to you, Elijah, to read the blasted book? Or did you need pictures?"

"I read a few pages - mostly when Ian made me. Found it all a bit waffly and po-faced."

Elijah opened his big blue eyes wide at his friend. It always worked on set. Sean muttered an un-Hobbitish curse and continued.

"Eventually - after a few erm delays in Cirith Ungol - they found the main highway and used it to get to Mount Doom."

"Fascinating."

"I'm telling you this because I think they made some mistakes which added days and days to their journey. They find the Black Gate closed and go west and south to the pass of Cirith Ungol - at Gollum's insistence. He wants Shelob to kill them, you see. We have a distinct advantage over our counterparts - no Gollum. I suggest we try the Black Gate. If it is closed for us we turn east - not west - and skirt the mountains on the other side, following the causeway thus chopping days off our journey."

He'd spent hours labouring over poorly detailed maps in Lothlorien and fancied he knew every slag heap and rock in Mordor. Cirith Ungol would be avoided entirely. He felt rather smug about that. He reasoned there was no point in telling Elijah what happened in the evil tower since it wasn't going to happen to them. Elijah almost yawned but his eyes were smiling. Sean gave him a peck on the cheek and they set off, scrabbling this way and that as they continued through Emyn Muil. After hours of scraped shins and scrambling up and down rocks Sean's patience was wearing thin, not helped by Elijah's caustic comments about trying out his new found navigation talents on their present location.

They followed the western cliff face and at last Sean found a likely place. Far down below was the valley of the Dead Marshes. He pulled the elven rope from his pack, and feeling smug again, let it down. He had been at pains to acquire twice as much rope as Sam - they were going to escape the Emyn Muil a lot quicker. Elijah was nervous and volunteered Sean to go first.

"No, you have to go first."

"Like hell I do."

"That way if you fall, you won't drag me down with you," Sean said sternly, using a line from the `Towering Inferno'. He caught Lij's hand, half-hugged him, the hand over his chest feeling the harsh pounding of his heart.

"You're the Ringbearer - you have to make it. I have to stay up here and make sure the rope doesn't give."

"All right. But if I die, I'm gonna haunt you."

It proved remarkably easy. The rope left no burns on their hands and had a reassuring weight to it. Once they were down, Sean stared at the rope and yanked it experimentally. It slithered obediently to the ground. Elijah swore colourfully, using every word Orli had ever taught him and a few more besides. He was practically tearing his hair down.

"What was that! We could have been killed! Don't you know what a knot is, Astin, for fuck's sake - "

"It was supposed to come loose - it did in the book."

"Screw yourself!"

"I'd rather carry on screwing you actually. I tell you, it came loose in the book!"

Elijah glared venomously and marched away, still cursing. Sean stowed his rope with injured dignity and followed him.

"When we get back, Elijah Wood, I am so going to make you read that book!"

**17**

The night passed slowly and resolve failed within Helm's Deep. All could hear the constant vibration as the orcs applied their battering rams - Viggo thought it wouldn't be too bad if only they'd do so rhythmically - and occasionally the brazen horns of their enemies challenging them to crawl out of their hole and fight. Viggo levered himself away from Orlando with some difficulty and passed among the wounded, healing their hurts as he had done Orlando. By the end, he was practically crawling. He tried to remember what happened in the book to relieve the besieged Rohirrim but his tired brain couldn't furnish him with an answer. He wished Ian were here to help. Theoden strode over and Viggo remembered to incline his head in respect.

"This is indeed an evil night."

"Truly." God, he was sounding like Ian now. "But dawn is not far off."

"These are Saruman's orcs," Eomer said, "they do not fear daylight."

"But they do not love it. And dawn is a great morale booster."

The two Rohirrim frowned a little at the unfamiliar words but were too polite to ask.

"Aragorn, I am an old man, death holds no mystery for me." It does for me, Vig thought but nodded for the king to continue. "I will not lie here like an old badger in a trap. When dawn comes, I will bid men sound Helm's horn and I shall ride out. It may be that our end will be worth a song."

`Another one Bites the Dust', sprang to mind but Viggo bowed gravely. There seemed to be a lot of bowing in this reality.

"I will accompany you, Lord."

He made his excuses and returned to Orlando. The elf was smiling secretly. Colour had returned to his cheeks and he sat gracefully and easily, his back straight, breathing calm. He looked for all the world as if he'd just stepped off the cover of `Elf GQ'. The thought had him laughing out loud.

"What is so funny, mortal?"

Orlando asked teasingly and that eyebrow of his lifted in that evocative fashion.

"Never mind. How are you feeling?"

"I am healed. You'll make an absolute fortune back on earth with those skills."

"Has possibilities."

Viggo made himself as comfortable against the damp wall and was gratified when the elf moved to lean against him.

"We're leaving at dawn for a brave last stand. I think Ian is supposed to bring the calvary just in time."

"Then let's go see the dawn, Big Broody Ranger."

"Shouldn't that be `Brooding'?"

"Not from this angle."

The two strolled as nonchalantly as possible to the ramparts and gazed out over the valley. They ignored the arrows flying at them - though it took all their acting skills to appear unruffled. The orcs jeered at them.

"Come down! Fight!"

Orli flickered them a glance.

"Pleasant fellows, aren't they? I think it's time you got all kingly again. Remember, I want lots of
`trulys,' `forasmuches' and if you can manage it a `Lo!'"

Viggo glowered at him.

"I'll see what I can do."

"What are you doing here?" taunted the orcs and beat their drums and clanged their armour.

"Truly, I came to see the dawn," Viggo replied with consummate casualness.

"The dawn does not bother us. We are the fighting Uruk hai."

"And he is Aragorn son of Arathorn and he has many names!"

Orlando whispered with no consideration for their predicament.

"Will you stop that?" Vig said a little testily. To the orcs, he said: "A new day brings fresh counsel - "

"Forasmuch - " Orli supplied.

Vig glared at him.

"- I suggest you depart or things will go ill for you." He glanced at the far off horizon and saw something far off like a white light moving rapidly this way. He smiled grimly. "For behold - the White Rider!" As he got down, Viggo added, "And about bloody time!"

Their victorious army slept that night in the caves since they offered the best shelter. Ian talked quietly to Theoden and Eomer. Viggo had been tending to the hurt but he now approached the King.

"Have you seen Orli?"

"Orli?" asked Eomer, wondering if exhaustion was catching up with the Ranger. Viggo turned his dark-eyed gaze to him.

"Yes Orli. Fuck - I mean Legolas."

He kicked Ian who was sniggering.

"It's Sindarin. It means ... Bloom. Blossom and ... things."

Ian decided to give the man a break.

"I believe he went outside."

Vig strode off, trying to look intimidating. Theoden had been watching the exchange with some bewilderment.

"I must confess the speech of Aragorn is strange to me."

"Yes, well, he was brought up by the elves, Lord. You've got to expect some eccentricity."

"Truly. Some words have no translation in Westron. This `Orli' and `fuck.' Tell me, Gandalf, what is `fuck'?"

Viggo found Orlando pacing the rampart, absently stepping over orc bodies, singing a song he had learned in Lorien. He approached Viggo with that mysterious elven smile of his and held out his hand.

"I knew you'd come."

"Did you read it in the book?"

"I saw your heart. Come."

Orlando took his hand and led him without speaking across the rampart, through the torn gate to the valley below.

"Orlando, where are we going?"

There was a certain petulance in his voice. Orli just smiled some more. They stopped at a small glade, away from prying eyes, where grass grew green, unspoilt by the defilement of the orcs. Orlando lay down, his hands folded over his breast, his eyes lost in the heavens. It was very peaceful.

"What are you thinking?" Viggo asked as he settled next to him.

"I am thinking how beautiful the stars are." He rolled his eyes.

"If you like. I think we need to talk about ... what happened."

Orlando regarded him, cool and elegant. He held out his hand and Viggo took it, surprised again by how fragile and graceful the elven fingers were.

"I think we should watch the stars," the elf said. He gazed up at the glittering constellations, so different from their own.

"A Elbereth Gilthoniel Silivren penna miriel," he sang quietly.

"It's a prayer to Varda, isn't it?" Viggo asked softly, not wanting to break this peaceful mood.

"The stars were the first things the elves saw upon waking."

His singing seemed to harmonise with the tranquillity of the night.

"I was at fault before - that night."

"Not from where I was standing."

Orlando thought back on the complex mixture of emotions which had torn him apart since Sean's death. As an elf, he grieved and mourned for his lost love - and would do for the rest of eternity - but there was a pragmatism in the elves. They did not waste time on transient emotions like anger and self-pity, they did not flog themselves to death over what ifs and lost opportunities. Orlando's elven half blamed Sauron and his evil minions for his lover's death. Orlando had done what was necessary - protecting the junior hobbits and arriving at his lover's side as soon as he could. From an elven point of view his actions were above reproach.

Similarly Viggo - though he had unquestionably succumbed to the Ring - had redeemed himself later. Revenge and retribution were unknown to the elves - Viggo had done what he had done, it was over. Brooding over it, didn't help matters.

The emotions of his human half were more complex, however. He had blamed himself initially - before Viggo's startling confession. If only he had been quicker coming to his lover's aid, if only he had woken up earlier, if only he had accompanied Seanie straight away instead of staying with the Hobbits - a whole squadron of if onlys marched through his brain. Viggo's confession meant he could direct his self-recrimination onto someone else. He wanted to blame Viggo for what had happened, make him suffer. It was human nature to want a scape goat but in his heart of hearts Orlando knew Viggo was no more to blame than he.

"You blamed yourself for Sean's death - but you were wrong. I blamed myself for Sean's death - I was wrong too. Sean made his own choice."

"Yeah." Viggo hugged Orlando close, in gratitude, in hope. Above them the moon slipped from behind a cloud, bathed them in her silvery light.

The next morning Dom and Billy went to the entmoot and the pair watched in rank stonishment as about thirty walking trees converged upon the small glade. Dom could see that they were all different in shape and height and colouring but he couldn't name what species they were. He wondered absently - while Treebeard was making his extended unhasty introductions - whether his own world had Ents. There was a sadness about the Ents, very much like that of the elves: their time was passing and the forests of the world were dwindling fast. The entwives had long since departed, Treebeard had told them, and there were no more entings. The Hobbit tried to imagine what it felt like to walk down the millennia like Treebeard had, grieving for his lost love Fimbrethil.

After a while they were dismissed and wandered about the nearby glades and dells trying to think of something to occupy themselves. Walking through the woods wasn't like a nice amble through woods at home. Back in England all the woods Dom had visited had paths to follow - usually grey gravel ones which hurt your feet - and picnic tables at convenient intervals. Here, there were no paths whatsoever, not even woodsmen's paths and it was easy to get lost among the trees which all looked alike. They had to cut their own path through the verdant undergrowth of ferns.

"Why did you come on this quest, mission, thing?" Billy asked after a long silence.

"Dunno. The others were so adamant we had to continue with the quest and destroy the Ring that I think I just found myself swept along."

He remembered that first day or so and the never ending fear. He had been for staying near the Portal and waiting for rescue but the others had outvoted him. Looking back at all the heartache they had endured, Dom couldn't help but think that he had been right all along.

"Later - when it was obvious we had gone too far to turn back - I carried on just to get it over with. It was only after Ian's fall - maybe even only after the breaking when I saw what Lij was
willing to do - that it began to really hit home."

"Aye, it got personal then, didn't it? When Ian sacrificed himself, I was grateful - aye I was - but I kinda wondered why he'd thought it was necessary to do it. I thought he'd thrown his life away. I cared about the others, don't get me wrong, but I never felt like I wanted to go so far as to put my own life at risk for them."

He'd seen that sort of shit in films - where the hero is willing to die for his lover (to the accompaniment of Bryan Adams) and had always thought that was so much dramatic license.

"Then everything changed."

Every cosy notion of looking after Number One had gone out the window on that River bank and in subsequent days until he'd found himself face to groin with Ugluk.

"You said that you didn't know if you could do that - I mean the orc thing?" Billy asked.

Dom played with a blade of grass, aware of how fragile this moment was. Potentially it could mean Billy's healing - if he didn't blow it.

"I really don't know, Billy. All I feel is deeply humble that you would go through that for me."

"Have you ever done it?"

Dom frowned, hoping he was on the same track as his friend.

"Yeah, lots of times. It's ... it's not supposed to be like that, buddy. In a trusting relationship, it's out of this world."

He winced at the unintentional pun but Billy hadn't picked up on it.

"You do know I'm gay, right?"

Billy snorted and for the first time, Dom saw real humour back in his eyes.

"Jesus, really, Dommie boy? I don't know who was the worst queen - you or Big I !"

"Thanks."

There was a pause. A thought was occurring to Dom and he really wasn't sure if it was pure insanity or up there with Einstein's theory. He struggled with it, trying to puzzle out the repercussion but he was a man of impulse not rational planning. He looked at Billy, his best friend, the pinched face and sunken eyes, the air of resignation. The forest seemed very still all of a sudden.

"Billy?"

"Aye?"

"I can show you - if you want." He practically cringed, expecting his friend to hit him, throw up or storm away, wounded forever.

"Aye."

Dom was so stunned by Billy agreeing that his mouth fell open. The Scot regarded him with a small smile.

"You look unpleasantly like a carp," he said.

"Carp? Yeah. Good - right." He needed to get a grip here before Billy changed his mind. He leaned over, about to give Billy a kiss but his hand pressed down on a large log which like a seesaw flipped up and connected painfully with his face. When he had stopped swearing and hopping and cursing every forest dwelling flora, he realised the tension had been broken.

He grinned as he leaned in close again and this time Billy opened up for him. The kiss was sweet and gentle, very tender. It was also stirring and with a start Dom realised he hadn't been getting any for almost three months. His body confirmed this revelation by giving him the biggest hard-on he'd ever experienced. He deepened the kiss passionately, made it wet and sloppy and hungry. He only broke away when he feared he was going to suffocate. Billy was grinning fit to burst and that was real good to see.

"Did you know John Rhys-Davies is going to do the voice of Treebeard?" he asked casually as he undid the bright jacket Billy was wearing. He could feel the Hobbit's heart beating.

"Never!"

"It's true."

"Like hell it is."

"Billy, I'm telling you. Ask Big I when we see him. Can you imagine it?"

They both sniggered and Dom pulled his friend's shirt off. Billy had lost quite a bit of weight - but then he had too - but his torso wasn't bad, nicely muscled if a little bony.

"I see it now - Treebeard the Welsh. Oh Dommie boy! `Hoom, how are you Merry boyo? Have you seen my sheep?'"

Dom shared the laughter while he pulled off his own jacket and shirt. He was very glad he'd bathed this morning. He ran a gentle finger down Billy's chest, let his hand rest across his ribs.

"You okay with this?"

"Aye."

They kissed again, a little slower this time, more affectionately. Dom stroked across Billy's chest, circling across the very pink nipples. Billy watched docilely. He kissed the Scot, letting his kisses flow down his chin, his throat to his chest. He caught the curly hair there in his teeth, grazed him, making Billy snort with laughter. This was good. Nothing too deep and meaningful - just a favour to a friend, something to chase away the shadows. Dom was quickly able to stifle the worry that Billy might read too much into this. He'd keep it light - Billy would understand.

He knew he should try for a little finesse this being Billy's first time and all but hell he was so hard and from the way Billy was bucking underneath him, so was the Scot. Impatiently he pulled down his own breeches, kicked them off, getting them momentarily stuck on his stupid Hobbit feet. Billy stared at the evidence of his arousal and Dom checked himself.

"Still okay?" he asked, praying desperately that Billy would say yes.

"Aye." Billy traced a curious hand over Dom's penis, obviously inexperienced. Dom guided his hand, helped him to set the rhythm he so craved. Billy complied. He gathered Dom closer, one hand stroking him, the other pulling his face down for more hungry kisses. Dom felt himself winding up tighter than a spring. He pushed himself mindlessly forward, penetrating his friend's mouth and hand simultaneously. It wasn't skilled or refined but hell it was good.

When he could think straight - and remember why he was doing this - he pulled Billy to lie more fully on the grass. He needed to slow down, take his time. He urged Billy to lift his hips and pulled his breeches off. Billy was delightfully hard, leaking from the tip. Dom found himself salivating. God, but it had been too long. Billy watched him . Dom tried to read his friend's expression for nervousness or fear but read only desire. He squeezed him, explored him while Billy thrashed happily and ran his hands through Dom's curly hair. He was mumbling incoherent endearments but Dom dismissed them. Dom blew over the tip of him, tongued him experimentally. Billy groaned and taking that as approval, Dom took the tip into his mouth, sucking it like an ice lolly. Billy pulled his head in closer and he replied by taking all of him into his mouth. He thrummed deep in his throat knowing what the vibration would be doing to his friend. He wasn't disappointed - Billy bucked wildly into his mouth. He let his fingers mould and toy with the Hobbit's balls, feeling them tighten. He felt Billy tug at him suddenly, almost frantically, and he pulled away expecting at the very least to see Treebeard and his ents standing in shocked disapproval.

"What?" he asked when he saw that the clearing remained just that.

"I'm going to come."

He tried to keep his temper and remember that this was Billy's first time.

"I kinda worked that one out, buddy."

"But you don't wanna - You cannae - "

Dom kissed him soundly, cradled his head gently with both hands.

"I want you. I want to taste you. I like it."

Billy frowned, obviously trying to accept that. Dom tried again while his hand gently kept his friend's body primed.

"Billy, what the orc did was rape. He forced you. You're not forcing me. I want this. Trust me."

He kissed him again, slowed right down to try to convey his care and trust to his best friend. It was unfamiliar territory - he wasn't a hard bastard by any means but he was impulsive, not always good at reading other people's needs. Billy nodded. Dom had to work a few minutes because Billy had softened. He used his tongue round the root, nibbled ever so gently there before taking the length back into his mouth. Felt so good. He felt Billy tense and this time the Scot didn't hold back. Dom opened his throat. Billy tasted nice, kind of sweet, hardly salty at all. He drank him down then nuzzled him for a few minutes. He crawled up Billy's body, felt the hobbit grab him in a bear hug. He laughed and settled down, very pleased with himself. As he fell into that nice after sex haze he was able to dismiss very quickly the worry that Billy was taking this too seriously. Even when he sleepily called him `love.'

**17**

The Ents were on the warpath and Dom was haunted by the look in Treebeard's ancient eyes when, softly he had said that it was probably the last march of the elves. The miles to Isengard disappeared quickly and before long the 2 Hobbits could discern the strangely shaped tower - the same shape actually as Saruman's staff in the film - surrounded by its circular road. When the Ents were roused, they didn't hang around. They marched resolutely to Isengard and cheerfully set to destroying everything in sight while Saruman, tail between his legs fled into his inner sanctuary and hid. Dom and Billy were left as door wards against the arrival of the Rohirrim and their friends while Treebeard went off to help shred the doors to kindling.

They fished out a few provisions and sat talking. Dom remembered Ian reading this chapter to him and Billy on set one day for the old knight had often entertained the Company with his story telling. The 2 Hobbits were smoking when Theoden arrived but, though they had found supplies of tobacco, nothing could induce either of them to take up the Hobbit habit. The couple of times Dom had had to smoke on set had ended with him throwing up all over the place.

Dom was a little unsettled. It was a nagging worry about Billy. The Hobbit had obviously ceased dwelling on the orc - and this was good, very good - but Dom had the unfavourable impression that Billy was taking their casual relationship as something more. Dom was - what was the term? A serial monogamist. He enjoyed wild affairs where both parties knew the rules and accepted them. He was young, there was time to settle down later. The `c' word made him decidedly edgy; whenever his former lovers had brought it up, he'd found himself backing off like a whole troop of orcs were after him.

He felt vaguely dirty and it occurred to him again that perhaps what he had suggested in that forest clearing had been a Bad Idea but it was done now. He knew he should end it now, before he hurt Billy further but every time he tried to bring the subject up - trot out the usual platitudes - he had seen the orc in his mind's eye and the words had dried in his throat. Billy was his best friend. He could do this for his best friend. And it occurred to him with something like a bolt from the blue that he had never had a best friend before. Friends yes, colleagues and drinking buddies but not someone whom he loved like he loved Billy. It was an emotion he wasn't used to. He would just have to remain scrupulously careful not to make any silly promises and avoid Discussions like they were the Balrog himself. Billy's voice broke into his thoughts.

"They're here!"

They had agreed that they would treat the reunion with their lost companions with a nonchalant air but all such conviction fled at the first sight of their friends. They had spent the morning worried to death that they wouldn't come or - worse - that Ian would not be with them proving that his regeneration had not taken place. Orlando whooped with joy and before any of them could think they were running towards each other like that corny scene in the `Love Story', hugging, crushing the breath out of each other. Orlando had tears in his eyes and Billy hid his face in the elf's jerkin. Eventually Viggo eased away and the four settled in an out of the way corner to talk and renew their bond. There was so much to say and so much to leave out. But they spent most of their time just smiling at each other and holding each other tightly. Then Dom remembered Ian and his stomach knotted. Oh God, the wizard hadn't made it. Beanie and now Ian.

"Did Ian ...?" He couldn't even say it.

But Viggo was smiling. For all the travel stained clothes, he looked relaxed and open. He seemed at peace with himself - for the first time since the teleportation.

"Don't worry, Dom, he's just talking to Treebeard. Why don't you go and surprise him?"

"Aye, let's go annoy the old bugger," Billy said and he grinned from ear to ear.

The two Hobbits scrambled through the wreckage to where they could spy Treebeard's tall frame. Another Ent was happily bashing through the Orthanc wall by the simple expediency of head butting it. The wall didn't stand a chance and there was dust and seriously ground-up bricks everywhere. As they drew nearer they could see the shorter figure their Ent friend was talking to - a straight standing old man with flowing white beard and even whiter robes.

"I bet he'd pass the Daz challenge," Dom quipped. The figure turned and they saw Ian's face crumple. Then they were being swept into a hard fierce embrace and they were all crying.
They stayed like that a long time while Dom had the time to reflect just how much he had missed the old wizard.

"The robes are ... outstanding," he managed.

Ian twinkled that old roguish twinkle.

"Ah well dear boy, it's what all the fashionable wizards are wearing this year."

He grinned happily at both of them then seemed to do almost a double take at Billy. He didn't say anything and Billy - who was too busy sniggering at the long straight hair - didn't pick up on it but Dom saw the blue eyes dim in pain. Ian knew.

The six friends gathered round the camp fire that night, trying to catch up with each other. Orlando, clutching tightly at Ian's hand, told them about Beanie, about his last few minutes on this earth and how brave he had been. Viggo took up the tale bringing their story up to date. Dom condensed the suffering he and Billy had faced under the orcs to a few controlled sentences. Viggo hesitantly asked them if they were okay and they were relieved to be able to move the conversation on to a discussion on the merits of Ent water as a miracle cure. Dom flipped up his shirt to demonstrate. There were a few white scars but nothing to suggest the bleeding weals they had suffered. Billy brought the tale to the present day, giving a fair impression of Treebeard at his most verbose.

"So what about you, Ian?" Viggo asked.

Ian was sat with his hands on his knees. He looked taller, straighter now like his body was younger, haler, but his shoulders stooped figuratively as though his burden had grown.

"I don't think I can tell you much."

He puffed at his pipe, his eyes far away.

"Long I fell," he said using the words from the book, "and he fell with me. His fire burned me and I hope I never suffer that agony again. I cast him down and - no, I will not speak of that."

He took a deep shaky breath.

"I woke to a bright blinding light and I was floating. There were voices but I could not understand them. Images flashed before me: a strange whirling pattern of light - "

" - The Portal," Orlando said.

" - Don't interrupt, Master Bloom. The Portal. Faces I knew and did not. There was ... the most beautiful land I have ever seen. A tall white tower, a golden tree. I did not want to leave." Ian bowed his head. "I was sent back to Middle Earth to fulfil my task. I know many things that I - or Gandalf - had forgotten. I can feel great power stirring within my breast and I can see many things far off."

He puffed again on his pipe.

"It is not entirely comfortable."

"What do you mean?" Dom asked.

"Great hardship is coming and Gandalf must stand strong but I am old and weary - despite my rejuvenation - and I am afraid."

Viggo patted his shoulder, not knowing what to say but the 2 Hobbits clambered next to him, hugged him hard. Billy planted a smacker of a kiss on the bewhiskered cheek.

"Dinnae worry, Ian. Stick with me and Dom - we'll stop you from making any big mistakes."

"Ian, did you find out anything about the Portal?" Dom asked.

"Yes and no."

"Thanks," Dom muttered. "Is it in your contract to speak in riddles, you old woman?"

Ian twinkled.

"I talked to Galadriel in Lothlorien and she told me some of its history."

"Yeah, it was forged by Aule. We know that - Lij told us. Will it get us home, that's what I want to know?"

"Potentially. And potentially Sean should be waiting for us there, Orli dear. But nothing is definite."

Dom was watching him carefully.

"Don't fuck with us, Ian. You're holding something back. We've been through shit to get here - don't you dare sell out on us."

Ian bristled.

"Would you have me tell you all I see, Dom? I see Sean and Elijah crawling through that hell, suffering beyond our comprehension. I see ..." He stopped, collected himself. "I see many things which are none of your concern. I will tell you this: We were brought here for a reason and every choice we make affects the outcome of the quest. Galadriel was right when she said in the film that the quest rests along a knife edge - it does."

"What do you mean? Are you talking about the predestination thing?"

"I'm talking," Ian said with Gandalf's impatience, "about choices, Billy. I was given to understand that it is the Fellowship who are being tested here - not Elijah alone. The success of the quest rests upon each of us. Oh to be sure, those two unhappy Hobbits bear the greatest burden but our decisions are important too."

"We have to follow our counterparts, we already know that, Ian."

"You aren't listening."

Ian waved his pipe at Orlando like a teacher waggling his chalk at an erring pupil.

"For example, Sean Bean faced a choice above Rauros." He squeezed Orlando's hand, "And he passed the test. One to us."

"I faced a test - and I failed," Viggo said, his face ashen. Ian nodded sadly, his blue eyes compassionate. "

I am afraid you are right, dear boy. But your actions later balanced out that mistake. It is all a question of balance, of good erasing evil, evil corrupting good. You have all done splendidly. But there is much evil to overcome and ... I fear for our absent friends, those who are so dear to us and who face the greatest test."

"But we'll win, won't we?" Billy asked, his small face frightened.

Ian drew him close, stroked the soft curly hair.

"I don't know, my boy. I wish I did."

"But we know how it ends. The Ring is destroyed. Frodo succeeds."

"But Elijah is not Frodo, Billy."

"You mean everything we have been through could be for fucking nothing?!" Dom asked, leaping to his feet and kicking at the fire in fury. Ian caught his arm.

"There are no definites, Dom. Listen to me - "

"Save it for someone who gives a shit - "

"Master Dominic!" Ian seemed to grow about eight inches taller and the very air crackled. "Don't be foolish. I do not know how the quest will end but I do know we must believe in ourselves. If you heard anything of what I have just been saying, you would understand that. This is not the time for despair - it is the time for hope. Hope beyond hope perhaps. You are right, too much has happened."

Ian stroked Dom's hair gently, lifted the chin to look into hurting eyes.

"Too much for us to give in now."

Dom nodded mutely.

Isengard rose like a black spike against the night sky and every now and then unholy fire glittered in one of its windows. Viggo couldn't sleep. He looked round the dying fire and found Ian and the two Hobbits missing. The Hobbits had crept away together earlier with what they probably thought was stealth. He detected the old man some yards away looking up at the tower - his white robes didn't exactly blend in.

"Hey, Ian."

"Dear boy."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Only one question will I allow this night, Viggo, for your curiosity is as insatiable as a Hobbit's!"

"Deal. You said we all had choices, right? And no, that isn't the question. Lij and Sean have choices - but you're afraid for them, aren't you? Can't you share your fears with me? Perhaps I can help."

Ian felt for his pipe, set about cleaning it. Viggo tried not to fidget.

"I cannot see all ends, Viggo, and believe me the half- knowing is worse than ignorance! My heart is heavy for them. They face unimaginable hardships and I am not sure anyone - even those two - can endure them. You spoke of choices. Sean made a choice in Lothlorien. He killed Gollum."

"Let me break out the champagne," Viggo quipped.

"Ah, but it was done without pity, Vig. Think. In the film, what did Gandalf say to Frodo about Bilbo sparing Gollum's life?"

Viggo thought back. He remembered the moment: one of Elijah and Ian's best, sat on a rock in front of the blue screen that was Moria.

"He said Bilbo's pity might rule the fate of us all. So?"

"The point," Ian said with impatience. Gandalf was really getting to him. " is this: Sean did not allow pity to rule his decision. That is significant. I am not condemning him - by no means. I am accounted wise and yet I wonder if I would not have done the same as Sean. It is not the fact that he killed Gollum - it is the fact he did so without pity in his heart. His motives will have repercussion, make no mistake. And my heart is sick with worry for them."

It had been kind of fun sneaking away from camp on Hobbit feet, rather like going behind the bike shed at school for an illicit smoke and grope. Dom had told himself over and again that Billy understood their arrangement. Yes, arrangement. A much more appropriate word for what they were doing than relationship since the only relationship he had with Billy - or wanted - was one of deep fulfilling friendship. But the days had gone past and he was even less sure. Billy went around with an ear to ear grin on his face - that's when it wasn't fixed in a look of dreamy completion. Dom had tried to back off, to create some space but that hadn't worked. Wherever he was, Billy was. He couldn't fetch firewood without the other Hobbit following. He had considered telling him a thousand times that it was over but he just couldn't. Billy needed him. That was very clear from their sex. His best friend was still fragile and the only thing keeping him going was Dom. Dom tried to close his ears to the whispered endearments his friend came out with during their passion, tried not to notice how the other guided their sessions away from hot sex to gentle kisses and cuddles. He felt like a worm, a fucking worm for what he was doing. Like he was stringing his best friend along - his best goddam friend in this or any other world - but he couldn't stop, he couldn't cause Billy any more pain. So he tried damage limitation by trying to divert Billy from kissing on the lips. He remembered that Billy had been orally raped by the orc because of him, Dom. To prevent him being raped properly. He owed his best friend something for that surely.

Billy took his hand and Dom tried not to cringe. They walked round the outskirts of Saruman's ruined kingdom until they came to an out of the way outhouse about a mile away from camp. It wasn't a salubrious setting but it would do. Billy began on Dom's shirt and the Hobbit let him. He sighed with pleasure as his friend found his nipple and began suckling it. Billy was a fast learner. They sank to the ground and Billy began in earnest, stroking his body with feather-light touches while he kissed him deeply. Dom managed to pull away from his mouth and sucked on the other Hobbit's collarbone to divert him from kissing mouth to mouth. He felt himself growing hard and he pushed himself against Billy's erection,
enjoying the rasp of clothes against flesh. He rocked himself against his buddy while the other hobbit grabbed his bum and pulled him in tighter. He was grunting a little now and Billy had his eyes tight shut, on the edge of passion. A few more strokes and Billy gasped in fulfilment. Dom could feel his cock jerking even through their clothes - it set off his own climax. He toppled off his friend, breathing hard.

"That was so good," he gasped when his mind could construct a sentence. He tossed a look at Billy but the Hobbit seemed to be frowning. The old worry reasserted itself and, just now, Dom didn't think he could deal with it.

"Aye it was. But ... you never kiss me."

Great.

"What are talking about, mate?"

"What I said." Billy looked straight ahead as he said, "I want to know where this is going, Dom."

Had it been anyone else, alarms, sirens, perhaps a few bells, would have been going off in his head and he'd be heading for the door - but this was Billy. His best buddy. His best buddy who'd sucked an orc's cock for him.

"This whole world stinks, Billy. We need each other." That was true. He couldn't conceive of life in this awful reality without Billy by his side.

"So - you're okay with this? Us?" Billy paused, obviously not sure how to voice his concerns, perhaps not wanting the answer.

"I mean, you offered right?" Billy swallowed hard, and Dom could see tears in his eyes.

"It's just - I still have nightmares about what the orc did. Sometimes I think I'm going to go mad, I can taste it, feel it
in my mouth. I need you, buddy."

Dom felt his own tears well up. Tears of pity, empathy and guilt. He'd be there for his friend, give him anything. Not because he loved him but because he owed him, because friendship was important. Hating himself for doing it, he leaned in a kissed Billy gently on the lips.

"I'm here, I'll always be here. It's okay - we're okay."

**18**

The next day they paid Saruman a visit. A flight of stone steps led up to the vast door of Orthanc. Ian seemed to hesitate in the saddle then he dismounted, giving Shadowfax an absent pat.

"I will go up for I know the way is perilous."

Despite the charged atmosphere, Orlando could not help but smile. It reminded him of `Monty Python and the Holy Grail'.

"Let us face the peril," he said lightly.

Billy who was also a fan gave the next line: "No, it's too perilous."

They were sniggering like school children but Ian rounded on them, fury in his eyes.

"Do not jest! This is not the time for it."

The two mumbled apologies and the small party mounted the steps. The door remained disconcertingly closed. Ian tried to remember how the original company had got into the tower but couldn't think above the thudding of his heart. Having no option he hammered hard on the door with his hand then with his staff.

"Saruman come forth!" he commanded.

A voice spoke, low and melodious. In comparison, Ian's voice sounded loud and uncouth, that of a barbarian who does not know courtesy. The company shifted nervously. Looking up they saw a tall man dressed in white standing at the door.

Ian felt his stomach clench as he came face to face with the man who was even more dangerous to him than the Balrog. His opposite regarded him and there was intelligence and pride in that gaze and a secret knowledge like Saruman knew everything and was amused. The master of Isengard held Ian's gaze for a few seconds then dropped it as if the actor was of no import. His dark hungry gaze fell on each of the assembled in turn and each one shivered at the intimacy
of the look. Saruman smiled some more.

"Why must you disturb my rest? Will you give me no peace by night or day?"

And the voice was the sound of enchantment. It was a delight to listen to, all it said seemed wise and reasonable. Ian,
unsettled, dropped back a step.

"I know most of you who darken my doorstep - Gandalf the Grey most of all."

The obsidian gaze returned to lock on Ian's face and sweat broke out on the actor's face.

"Would you speak with me? Would you hear the counsel of Saruman, your friend and counsellor?"

Those who listened judged the words to be nothing but courteous. They had mis-judged this wizard surely; there was no malevolence in his make-up, just the hurt of someone unjustly maligned. They looked from one wizard to the other and saw there was no comparison: Saruman stood tall and authoritative, wise and powerful; Ian stooped, his once shining robes looking cheap and tawdry.

"Come then, Gandalf, come to me."

Saruman's eyes penetrated Ian's skull, his fingers raised like a claw as he drew the wizard towards him. And Ian, as though under a spell, followed his leader into the Tower. The door clanged shut behind them.

Immediately the door closed the enchantment broke. Viggo slammed on the door in frustration and anger.

"What the hell happened?"

"The voice of Saruman, I presume," Orlando snapped.

"We are so the total losers."

"Well what do we do now?" Dom asked, aiming a kick at the door.

"We have to get Ian back."

"How?" Viggo asked in a controlled voice.

"Don't get all Aragorn with me, Vig. Treebeard. He can wrench this door off its hinges with his little finger."

"Then what? Don't you see? That's Saruman in there. We've already felt the power of his voice. He'll just cast another spell on us."

"Okay. So what do you suggest? Harsh language? A sternly worded letter?"

"Nothing. We do nothing. We can't take Saruman by force, he's too powerful. Our only hope is Ian."

"Quick newsflash, laddie," Billy said, "Ian's in there. You're just going to abandon him?"

"Yes. We may have lost Ian already - we cannot afford to lose anyone else. Listen to me! Don't you see, that's what Saruman wants! Imagine the bargaining power he'll have with not just Gandalf the traitor but Aragorn, heir of Gondor, Legolas Prince of Mirkwood and 2 Hobbits. We can't contend with the voice of Saruman."

"There must be something we can do," Orlando said.

Viggo glanced up at the dark forbidding tower.

"Pray - pray Ian is strong."

Ian felt he was participating in a nightmare. It was like his mind was stood outside of himself watching the white robed body submit. He knew each of Saruman's softly spoken suggestions was wrong but he couldn't help but obey. Saruman led him into his gleaming black throne room. Ian cringed at the odour of corruption; it both repelled and fascinated him. Saruman was circling him like a cat its prey. He ran a caressing hand over Ian's face and the wizard shivered at the unnatural coldness. Saruman smiled in triumph.

"Your mind is open before me, Gandalf my old friend but it confuses me. Who is Ian?"

No, he mustn't answer! Closing his eyes and summoning all his will, Ian kept the answer within.

"Very good, Gandalf. But your will is weak."

Saruman now rested his skeletal hand against the old man's temple.

"I would hate to have to break it."

Again the voice sounded reasonable, as though its suggestions - not demands, dear me no - were eminently logical and
for the good of mankind while Ian's were corrupt and perverted.

"I will tell you nothing," Ian stated as calmly as possible.

"Nothing?" Saruman laughed as though the idea were preposterous.

"But my dear Gandalf, you have told me so much already. You bring Hobbits to the foot of my tower. Aragorn son of Arathorn also. And the Ringbearer? Ah, he is not here. Where is he, Gandalf?"

Again Ian felt the crushing sense of invasion. He fell to the ground but did not confess. His heart hurt and he felt so very afraid that his will was not strong enough to resist. Oh Elijah forgive me, he thought in despair.

"Very well, my friend. So be it."

He felt himself drawn to look to his left and saw the instruments of torture.

He was commanded to sit on Saruman's throne, the irony not escaping him. He could not move. He exerted every ounce of strength to move just his hand but it didn't budge an inch. He gasped, his breathing ragged. Saruman came into his line of vision and he found his gaze locked with his enemy's.

"I am Saruman the White. You are but an interloper, old fool. I have the power of Isengard and Mordor at my command."

He knew that every word was true. He could see himself, a small vulnerable figure, a laughing stock. The quest would fail, there was no hope. A tear trickled down his face. He had never felt this helpless, this worthless.

"Where is the Ringbearer, Gandalf?"

He shook his head mutely. He remembered watching some documentary about those poor souls who had been captured during the Gulf War, how they had said that the hardest part about being tortured was keeping silent. Once you started talking - even just to answer seemingly redundant questions - you couldn't stop. Saruman lit the splint jammed under Ian's fingernail and watched it with an air of detachment as it burnt the nail. The smell was noxious and Ian writhed but couldn't move away.

"Where is he?"

No, Elijah no! Ian summoned up his dwindling strength. He captured an image of Elijah in his mind's eye, held it there.

"Very well. Let us begin with an easier question, my friend."

Saruman clinically set fire to the rest of his nails.

Who is Ian McKellan?"

Ian violently shook his head, bit his tongue from crying out but the pain was too great. He screamed.

"That won't do. Look at me. Much better." Saruman gently stroked the old man's forehead, smiled as a new plan came to him - as he felt the mind shrink from him.

Standing behind his helpless enemy, he placed his long fingers on his temples. And invaded his mind. It was startlingly, disappointingly easy. He could feel the man's fear and hopelessness and he gloated at the grovelling piece of humanity this supposedly great wizard had been reduced to. There was a wall inside his mind. Saruman forced his way to it, applied mental pressure. Ian felt his mind was being squeezed. He could feel his enemy like a sick snake slithering through his mind, leaving everything tainted and sullied. Saruman laughed at his every memory and belief. His whole life was casually laid bare. There was no question of keeping his origins secret from the invasive probe - Saruman knew it all. He hooted with laughter over Ian's RSC performances, sneered derisively at his boyfriends and made Ian feel perverted and twisted over his homosexuality. But there was one wall he would defend, one barrier his rapist would not break - Elijah.

Saruman exulted in his control. This creature was worse than worthless. He would have a very full report to give to Sauron! The great Gandalf reduced to this worm! Ah, but the irony. Saruman became aware of another presence in the room and abruptly removed his mind from Ian's to confront Wormtongue.

"I did not summon you. Leave us."

Ian felt the mind withdraw. He knew he had seconds only. With a cry of pain, he threw the palantir down the stairs. Saruman screamed in denial and the wizard's distraction was enough for Ian to pull away completely from his enchantment. It was Ian who now seemed to grow taller and Saruman to diminish. Power surged through him once again and Ian commanded Saruman to his knees. With a gasp Saruman dropped. Ian took the wizard's staff.

"Will you come down?" he asked - the words of the book.

Pride and hate spat out from the cowed wizard.

"Never."

"I will not kill you if that is what you fear. You can leave here in peace."

It took all Ian's will to say it for it was just so tempting to kill the miserable stinking bastard but he remembered Gandalf's
mercy and knew he had no option.

"So condescending and so very kind."

The traitor scrambled to his feet, began to turn away but Ian called him back.

"I did not give you leave to withdraw. I am Gandalf the White and I cast you from the order and the Council!"

He raised his hand and in a clear voice said, "Saruman, your staff is broken."

That made him feel better.

"But I have seen your mind, `Ian'. I will tell the Great Eye."

"Indeed? And will he listen - even if you had the means of communication? I think not! Good day Saruman."

Ian gathered his cloak about him and began walking slowly down the stairs, holding his burnt hand close. He was overcome with weariness, the last of his strength sapping as he opened the door.

"Ian!" Viggo grabbed him and almost carried him through the door.

Ian stopped him with a weak cry.

"The palantir."

"What?"

Voices overlapped in confusion but Billy understood. The palantir. Without further thought he ducked through the half open door and lifted up the sphere. He very nearly dropped it, it was so heavy. Ian gestured and the Hobbit brought it over.

"I'll take that, my dear boy. Well done."

He hid the stone in his cloak, groaned as his fingers protested the movement and scraped against the cloth.

"Your hand! Christ, Ian - "

"I am whole - more or less - and Saruman is cast down. Let us leave this place."

Viggo drew Ian's arm across his shoulder and the small party made their slow way down the steps. As he brought up the rear, Billy cast a last look back and said to no- one in particular, "I told you it was too perilous!"

While the rest helped with the preparations, Viggo took Ian into the guardroom. The old wizard was pale and shivering from shock. The Ranger took out the last leaf of athelas and crushed it in hot water. Ian blew out his cheeks in a great expulsion of air as the fragrance reached him.

"You gonna tell me what happened?" Viggo asked.

"I'd rather forget, thank you."

Viggo wrung out the cloth and as gently as possible applied it to Ian's ravaged hand. Ian bit his lip against the pain but thankfully the athelas worked its magic swiftly reducing the pain.

"I think it's important Ian."

Viggo lifted his eyes to hold the other's gaze - his gaze was strong, confident, commanding. It was Ian who looked away first.

"You've finally accepted your destiny, I see," the old man said with some wryness.

"Something a wise old wizard said by the banks of the Entwash. Unless my kingly foresight has abandoned me, I think something important happened in that tower. And I'm sorry, Ian, but you have to tell me about it - for the good of the quest."

Ian hugged himself with his free hand.

"And if I refuse - if I tell you it was personal and none of the King of Gondor's business?"

Viggo's eyes remained steadfast, resolute.

"I must insist."

Their eyes clashed again and again the wizard capitulated.

"Very well. He possessed my mind. I could keep nothing from him - he knows who we are and what we intend. Resistance was futile. The one thing I managed to keep from him was Elijah and our hopes for him."

Ian swallowed hard, took a moment to compose himself. Even his years of acting could not keep the tremble from his voice as he continued.

"He raped me mentally. He knew everything that I did, accessed every fear, every dearly held memory, every thought."

"God, Ian."

Viggo wrapped a gentle hand round the old man's neck, drew his head to rest against his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I should never have forced you - "

"No. Dear boy. You were right. What happened has repercussions."

Ian pulled away, managed an embarrassed smile as he wiped away a tear. He pulled out his pipe and with shaking fingers tried to light it. Viggo watched him in concern, not knowing how to help.

He thought about his friend and realised he had never seen him cry. Filming had been a supremely emotional experience, the long exhausting hours, the intensity of the story. The company had drawn together into one big family, each supporting the other. They laughed together, cried together, got drunk together. But through it all Ian had maintained a dignity and distance. He joined in the laughs and high spirits, drank with them, matchmaked unceasingly and gossiped almost as much as Orli - but he remained a father figure to whom the others retreated when things got too much. Viggo had only seen him raise his voice once, had never seen him drunk and had only heard him come close to a swear word once when one of the horses stood on his foot. And he had never seen him cry. On the quest, Ian was compassionate, tender, supremely understanding of everyone else's problems but had never shared his own.

"Even great and powerful wizards need to let go sometimes," he suggested.

Ian offered a more composed smile although he avoided Viggo's gaze.

"I'm fine, dear boy. Smoking is wonderfully relaxing."

He gave in.

"Okay, have it your own way. What about these repercussions you were talking about?"

Ian nodded sagely, cradling his pipe in both hands.

"I'm afraid my ... capitulation is one of those negative choices we were discussing. However - I know Saruman's mind. I cast him down. The mind rape was invasive but it has done him little good."

"Why not?"

"I cast a spell of forgetfulness over him. Even now he is wondering what happened and why his knowledge is trickling away like sand through a sieve."

Ian puffed on his pipe a few times.

"Anyway, he is holed up in Orthanc with Treebeard as his unhasty jailer. He can do us no more ill."

Viggo nodded, absorbing that information. He decided to return his attention to Ian's hand. He made him hold the fingers in the athelas water for a while then summoning forth his healing powers he repaired as much of the damage as possible. There was, however, some kind of block which prevented complete healing. He frowned. Ian was watching him.

"Magic, Viggo. Saruman combined his art with the physical fire. There is nothing even the King of Gondor can do to quench that fire."

Viggo gagged.

"You mean - "

"I will feel the fire of Saruman until we leave this reality, yes."

He puffed out a breath, summoned up a cheery smile.

"Thank you, my boy. I think we should re-join the others. We have a long road."

Viggo caught his arm as he was turning away. "

I meant what I said Ian, even great and powerful wizards need to let go. I'm here if you want to talk."

That night, after a long exhausting ride, Ian sat alone, puffing on his pipe, feeling curiously lonely. Orlando and Viggo had `volunteered' to ride down into the next valley to search for orc raiding parties. Ian had mischievously suggested they take a few soldiers with them and had enjoyed watching them squirm as they came up with their pathetic excuses. The two Hobbits had crept away from the fire at full dark.

He was glad the Ranger and the elf were getting along so splendidly. Ian was well aware that Orlando missed Sean Bean every second of every day but Viggo seemed content enough to enjoy a supportive relationship with him. They were not `in love' but theirs was a very tender, giving relationship based on mutual need and love beyond romance. Dom and Billy were something else entirely. Dear lord, but it was like a soap opera, all these young people, falling in and out of love. There again, it hadn't been any better on set and, to be honest, Ian had enjoyed matchmaking for all his young charges. There was no difference here except the stakes were higher, the emotions stronger.

Thinking about the two junior Hobbits, Ian wasn't sure if he could work out what was going on. He was an old pro at reading body language but theirs was confused. Billy said he loved Dom and the way he went about the place like a lovesick teenager supported his claim but Ian knew what had happened near the eaves of Fangorn. Having foresight was not a gift, not when you could see what your friends were enduring and could do nothing to help them. He'd considered talking to Billy, had even tried a few times, but Dom's glowering presence which said `back off, old man' as clearly as if he'd been holding up a sign had disabused him of the idea. Billy had been through so much and Ian suspected what the confused Hobbit was feeling was gratitude and a need to feel loved. Dom went about with a face like a wet weekend in Mordor - or at least he did when Billy wasn't looking his way. Then he assumed a placid expression of contentment which he flicked on like switch. Ian was very worried: Dom was being torn in two. On the one hand, he wanted to provide whatever comfort and support he could to his hurting friend yet on the other, he didn't want to love him. Perhaps he should intervene before either or both of his young friends hurt themselves.

Ian had expected the quest to get easier, not harder. The Balrog was supposed to be Gandalf's worst test and yet Ian felt like the cares of the whole world lay on his shoulders. In addition to his other worries, he couldn't get Saruman out of his mind. The mind rape had left a bad taste in his mouth. It was repellant to think that anybody knew your every thought; those sick fantasied you hardly admitted to yourself, the dark corners, the evil intentions and lies, the failures. He was so weary. He rubbed his fingers gently - they burned with an unholy fire. Perhaps a good night's sleep would help.

It was no use. Dom was deluding himself and, worse, he was deluding his best friend. What had happened at Orthanc, the way every one had rallied round Ian just served to highlight what true friendship was all about. They had been prepared to do anything to get Ian out of that tower. Anything - storm the place, go in guns blazing, risk capture and torment. And in the end - though it hurt - they had been prepared to do nothing because that was what they had to do. Because ultimately getting captured would have hurt Ian even more. Dom had learned something important that day - that friendship was not easy or comfortable, that sometimes it demanded sacrifice. That sometime it demanded pain for yourself and those you loved.

Before Saruman's fall, he had told Billy everything was okay. He'd swallowed his fears and let the other Hobbit lead him some place he had not wanted to go. He'd given in to Billy's pain and hurt and he had done so for the very best of motives: because he loved him as a friend and wanted to take the pain away in whatever fashion Billy thought was necessary. But it was wrong. He should never have started them down this path and once upon it, he should never have continued down it. Two mistakes he'd made. There was nothing he could do about the first but he could rectify the second: he would tell Billy their arrangement ended here.

"Billy, I need to say something."

"What's up?"

And God damn him the Scot didn't have a clue. Why didn't he just twist a knife into his own guts and be done with it?

"Sit down."

The two Hobbits curled up comfortably against a rock and Dom fiddled with his cloak brooch. Then he remembered that that piece of jewellery was what had started all this in the first place and stopped. He didn't have anything else to fiddle with.

"Billy, we can't carry on."

He'd rehearsed a hundred speeches but none had worked. He held up his hand before Billy could jump in.

"I know. I'm a total bastard. The other day I told you everything was okay - I lied. I'm sorry about that too."

He was sorry for a lot of things. He had stood up during his speech and now he kicked at the stones, venting his anger and shame. Billy sat silent, a cynical twisted smile on his face.

"So that first time - what was that all about?"

Dom crouched down, tried to catch his friend's gaze.

"I'm sorry, Billy, I'm so fucking sorry. I thought I could help. I thought it would just be ... a way of dealing with what happened, a buddy helping out a buddy, you know?"

"A mercy fuck?"

The words pierced him like arrows. Feeling about ten inches tall, he nodded.

"I can't lie to you anymore. I know, fuck I know, this is crucifying you! You're my best friend and I'm hurting you! But it can't go on, Billy."

Billy turned away from him, hugged himself. Dom again tried to touch him, to comfort him.

"I don't love you, Billy and I don't think you love me."

"You don't know anything about me, Dom. Don't you DARE tell me what I feel!"

Billy suddenly rounded on him, his fists balling.

"Don't try to lay this on me!"

He began to walk away but Dom grabbed him, used his greater weight to keep him still. Billy glared murder at him.

"Please. Listen. Billy, you're my best friend - "

"Really, you have a strange way of showing it!"

" - and I love you as my best friend. But can't you see, I can't lie to you anymore. It wouldn't help me and it wouldn't help you if we carried on. You are too important to me. There would have to be love between us - romantic love, sexual love - and there isn't."

Billy spat in his face.

"Next time you want to have a shag, Dominic, ask an orc. They don't like commitment either."

And with that Billy extricated himself from Dom's grip and walked back to camp.

**19**

The valley beyond Isengard was quiet and tranquil, the chirrup of the crickets seeming only to enhance the stillness. Night time was beautiful in Middle Earth, Orlando thought. At home, it was rare for a person to enjoy the night. The glare of lamp posts cast a yellow glow over the atmosphere - that batty old astronomer Patrick Moore said that even ten miles away from the nearest town, the negative effects of civilisation was such that the yellow pall hid most of the stars. Here the stars stretched for eternity and their beauty took his breath away. He could quite understand his people's fascination with them. Viggo watched him in amusement at another instance of Orlando `going elf' on him - he stuck his tongue out at him. The Dane walked over to him, his steps confident, measured and Orlando found himself entranced by the human's manliness. He smelt of leather and metal and that tang that Orlando could only define as `humanness.' Viggo was broad shouldered and muscular like no elf could be and his eyes were alight with passion and verve and belief in the moment. There was a question in the Ranger's eyes. He wasn't holding back, he stood confidently, calmly, but he didn't push either. He waited. Orlando found his thoughts returning as they always did to his lost love, Sean. Again the moments replayed themselves: the man's touch, the union they had shared which went far beyond love or romance. His grief had not diminished - would never diminish as long as he lived in this reality - but other emotions were allowed in. His human half flinched from the idea of making love to another man after Sean. It seemed disrespectful to his memory, like he was two timing him. But his elven half accepted it as a natural part of life. Elves lived forever and they could enter other relationships without demeaning the strength of their first love; indeed they needed that companionship to remain sane. Elrond had had many lovers down the centuries since the death of his wife Celebrian. Viggo was still waiting, patient but not disinterested. Orli's lips quirked in a smile and the elf closed the gap between them. He ran questing fingers through the man's unruly hair, brushed against his beard and burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?"

"Beards. I don't understand your obsession with them."

"That's because you elves don't grow facial hair. Trust me, shaving in cold water is not fun. Why do you imagine we rangers are so hard?"

"Silly King."

And Orlando kissed him. It was different to kissing his Sean. The connection was there, the trust but not the depth. It felt more like companionship than love. He pulled away to start on their shirts. The various buckles and toggles and buttons that Viggo's clothes were fastened with defeated him for a few moments and he swore a most unelvish curse. Viggo laughed at him. Viggo took control. He undressed Orlando slowly, appreciatively, turning the compliant body this way and that to catch the meagre starlight and red flame of the fire. He stroked questing hands over the smoothly planed chest and well muscled belly. Orlando titlted his hips forward but the annoying human circled behind him. It was like he was studying him. Viggo massaged the hard shoulder muscles then ran skipping fingers lightly down the straight back. Orlando jumped a little and Viggo repeated the thrill. His fingers swept over the peach-like buttocks, pressing into the flesh to slide tantalisingly between them. Orlando opened his legs. He heard Viggo kneel behind him and felt his arousal jump up a level at the eroticism of such intimacy. Viggo licked his buttocks gently then bit them. Orlando trilled his appreciation, his voice rising and falling in strange elven harmonies. He felt the Dane slip his fingers between his legs to cup and fondle his balls and cock from behind. That too sent him trilling with desire. Vig's hands were very capable and sure of themselves - again so different to Sean's. Here there was an element of not danger but wildness which had been lacking with his beautiful Sean. He let his head fall back and groaned and sang his pleasure as those competent hands played him so expertly, stroking and kneading his balls while tickling the underside of his cock.

Eventually Viggo crawled round to the front of him and Orlando regarded him through heavy eyes. Viggo kept their gazes locked as he took him into his mouth but he was teasing him again because just as he felt him tighten ready to climax he removed his mouth. Orlando nearly fell at the loss of stimulation. He opened furious eyes but Viggo just smiled triumphantly.

"I've been told elves have great stamina," he stated clinically.

"I'm going to kill you!"

Orlando began but Viggo's mouth on his effectively ended his tirade. He melted against the big bad Ranger and felt the harsh rasp of leather against his groin. He contemplated coming against the soft material but wisely abandoned the notion - the stains would be really difficult to explain to Theoden. So he tugged the tight leggings off hairy legs, taking his time with his own exploration. Viggo pulled him closer and grabbed both their cocks together. Orlando sang his excitement, bucking against the combined stimulation of hard calloused hand and hot pulsing cock. It didn't last long. Viggo came first, his convulsions setting off Orlando. Orli kissed the damp forehead, gentled the man with fairy light kisses and murmured endearments. He thought again of Sean and knew his lover was waiting patiently for him. He held Vig's head still while he kissed each of his eyelids.

"Soon, Sean," he promised his lover in the silence of his soul. "Soon."

 

Ian saw Billy slink back to camp - alone. Ian could see his shoulders shake, heard the occasional muffled sob. He went over, placed an understanding hand on his back but Billy told him in no uncertain terms to get lost. So he'd returned to his bedroll and watched from a distance as the little Hobbit had fought his demons alone. Dom remained conspicuous by his absence. Ian had another worry - the palantir. He was Gandalf the White now, Saruman as he should have been and he truly understood his erstwhile leader's fall from grace. What he had been before his regeneration was but a poor shadow of what he was now. He knew instinctively he could command the sea to rise or splinter rocks with one glance. He had to keep a very tight rein on his impatience for fear of letting rip with a thunder bolt or two.

Christopher Lee had had the right of it - power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. The urge to use the palantir, to confront Sauron was almost too much for him. He was Gandalf the White, wise and powerful, he could easily wrest the thing from the Dark Lord. Of course, that's what Saruman had thought too. But he was not Saruman. He was not interested in power or glory. He was a British actor far from home. He could use the stone in humility. Ian found himself reaching for the accursed Stone and quickly pulled his mind away. It was clear he was going to get exactly no sleep this night.

 

The cry pierced the night and men sprang startled from their beds. Viggo instinctively felt for his sword but he realised the cry came from Ian. He almost tripped over the fire in his haste to get to his friend who was clutching his chest, his breathing almost asthmatic.

"Ian?"

Viggo exchanged a worried glance with Orlando.

"Breathe, Ian. Slowly."

The wizard was still battling for breath. Viggo grabbed his hand and willed him to breathe. The dreadful wheezing eased and the old man slumped forward.

"I'm okay," Ian managed after a few minutes.

Orlando held a waterskin to his lips, watched him spill most of it down his beard.

"What happened? Are you ill? Is it your heart?"

That was all they needed, Gandalf the White succumbing to a heart attack. Ian shook his head, his eyes were terrified.

Not me."

He waved his hand, tried to summon the energy to speak.

"Elijah and Sean. A vision."

He smiled unaccountably at Billy and drew the Hobbit close, kissed the curly head.

"I've had them before. They are not a comfortable gift of my regeneration."

He wrapped his arms round Billy tightly and the Hobbit stroked his beard tenderly, trying to reassure him. Viggo sat next to the old man, drew his arm round his shoulders while Orlando crouched at his feet, rubbing one of the old man's hands. The group's intimacy was such that the rest of the army slowly drifted away.

"Can you tell us of the vision?" Viggo asked.

"There was a black tower which I identified as Cirith Ungol. Elijah and Sean will be discovered in Ithilien and taken there by a party of orcs. The Eye has been sweeping his country, unsure, unsettled. He will immediately know that two Hobbits have been captured. He will reveal himself in power - and wrest the Ring from Elijah."

Ian swallowed hard.

"I will not darken your thoughts with a description of what he will do to our friends."

"This has not happened yet? How do you know?"

"No and I know," Ian snapped irritably.

Then he smiled apologetically at Billy.

"I am Ian the White, I am certain it has not happened yet."

"But it will. Oh God, the quest is over then."

Orli looked out unseeing at the campsite.

"Sean dead - and now Lij and Sean!"

Ian squeezed the elf's hand hard.

"The vision was sent to me by the Valar. We must use it to our advantage and quickly."

He felt in his pockets for his pipe, remembered he had no tobacco left and almost swore. Billy, smiling through his tears, gave the wizard his own pipe. "

Bless you, dear boy. Let me think for a moment."

Ian's eyes were alight again, his mind working as he puffed on his pipe - they could almost see the cogs going round in his brain. The others tried not to fidget. Eventually Ian stirred and his face was set and resolute.

"I know what we must do."

 

Ian explained the plan to them. Billy and Viggo were to activate the palantir thus tearing the Eye away from his own borders. They were to goad the Dark Lord, make him believe that the Ringbearer and the King of Gondor were marching to Minas Tirith in might to claim both the throne and the Ring. It was a terrible gamble which depended on the Dark Lord's fears and insecurities to work. Sauron would remove his attention from his own lands, turn his brooding malice away from Elijah and Sean and direct it at Minas Tirith.

"I don't see how that will help Sean and Elijah," Orlando said.

"It is only because the Dark Lord is concentrating all his will on Mordor at the moment that he will realise 2 Hobbits have been captured in Cirith Ungol. If his Eye is elsewhere, he will not know they have been captured. Not immediately."

Ian paused as though unsure how much to tell them.

"They will still be captured and sent to Cirith Ungol - I cannot see how we can prevent that. All we can do is distract the Eye from immediately interrogating them. All we are doing is buying them time."

While the others digested this piece of information and its ramifications, Billy pulled Ian aside.

"Do I have to do this?"

Ian's eyes fairly burned.

"You have no choice."

"What about Dom instead? I know it has to be a Hobbit - but why me?"

"Putting aside the fact that it is Pippin in the book, we cannot afford to wait for Dom to return. It is imperative we work with all possible speed. Within the next few minutes."

"It's just that - "

Ian held up his hand imperiously.

"I know - or guess - what happened between you two young Hobbits. I'm afraid you'll have to put it from your mind for the time being, Billy."

Billy shuddered at having his life so casually dismissed.

"Just like that?"

Ian was unmoved. Billy had never seen him so commanding and resolute.

"You need time to adjust. You need time to forgive Dom. You need time to find closure over the orc - oh yes, I know what happened to you, dear boy - and you need time to summon up courage to confront the Enemy. But you have no time. None of us do. What you must do is not fair, it is not just, it does not take account of your pain and anguish. Nevertheless you have no choice."

Billy boggled at him. Ian continued ruthlessly.

"Two of our friends are going to die, Billy - painfully and slowly. Their fate lies in your small hands. Don't let them down, I beg you."

The palantir lay at his feet. Viggo remembered how the Company had called it the snowglobe of Isengard after Ian had substituted the real prop for a tacky snowglobe of Wellington during a rehearsal with Christopher. It didn't appear even remotely funny now.

"Do you two know what you have to do and say?"

Ian's voice crackled with tension. He counted two terse nods. He gripped their hands tightly, holding their gaze with his resolute one.

"Believe in yourselves."

As he watched his two friends gamble everything in the desperate attempt, Ian had no delusions. In the book, Pippin had foolishly activated the Stone. It could so easily have gone ill for the original company but Sauron had been too eager and surprised by a Hobbit's sudden appearance to use the union to his advantage. Pippin had been confused and bewildered and had been able to tear free without revealing much to the Dark Lord. His Hobbit resilience and innocense had stood him in good stead. Later Aragorn wrested the palantir from Sauron's control, claiming it for himself. Another gamble which had almost cost the King his life. He had revealed himself to Sauron, shown him the Sword that was Broken, knowing that the return of the legendary King of Gondor would goad the dark Lord into hasty action, keep his Eye fixed far away from two Hobbits crawling through his own land. This time it might not work out that way. Billy had the body of a Hobbit but not the mind of one. He wasn't foolishly, ignorantly activating the palantir - he was knowingly doing so, in an attempt to provoke the Dark Lord. And he was doing so when his own confidence was at a low ebb, when he was still haunted by the orc assault. Viggo was not the King of Gondor, he was an actor who had never been comfortable with his role in this reality. It was a truly horrific gamble. If they failed, the quest was as good as over. Elijah and Sean would be revealed.

Billy hefted the Stone, again surprised by its leaden weight. He glanced up at Viggo who was sat behind him and Viggo wrapped his own large hands round Billy's small ones as the Hobbit held the thing in shrinking palms. Nothing happened. The red and blue mists within the heart of the Stone whirled sluggishly. Billy relaxed in relief. Then something seemed to grab his mind, pull him in. He fought back, panicked and repulsed, and he felt Viggo's willpower join his. It was enough.
Just.
The red mists wreathed and morphed into the shape of the Eye. It regarded them malevolently, unblinkingly, and Billy felt how small and insignificant he was before that omnipotent gaze. He had come face to face with total evil and it left him tainted. All his life he would feel slightly unclean. In that moment he realised just how much Elijah must be suffering carrying the One Ring. No words were spoken yet they understood: "Who are you?"

It hurt horribly and the rehearsed words were forgotten before that stony gaze. Billy quaked in fear.

"A Hobbit."

The Eye burned into his skull. It saw the orc attacking him, fed off his humiliation and shame. He couldn't stop it probing him. Then another voice spoke, clear and commanding.

"No, Sauron, this Stone does not belong to you. I claim it. For behold, I am Aragorn son of Arathorn."

It seemed to Billy that he could feel the struggle between the two. Power crackled like a thousand thunder storms. Viggo was panting hard and his iron will was slipping. Billy felt Sauron's smugness, felt him gather his will to destroy his friend.

"No," Billy shouted frantically.

"`For Isildur's Bane shall awaken and the halfling forth shall stand.' I am Frodo Baggins, Ringbearer."

The Eye tore away from Viggo, settled all its might once more on the Hobbit and Billy felt his mind crushing like eggshells. Again Viggo rescued him. The King of Gondor projected images at the Dark Lord: a great army advancing on Mordor, the Sword that was Broken re-forged and wielded by the true King. They both felt the will weaken, felt Sauron instinctively draw back in fear and anger. Then there was a terrible surge within the Stone and two things happened simultaneously: Viggo wrested the Stone from the Dark Lord and Sauron sent forth the last of his will to stop Billy's heart. The Stone went dead, its colours dulled. And Billy fell to the floor.

**20**

With the Emyn Muil behind them, they made much better time. But soon they entered the marshes proper and their pace slowed to that of arthritic snails - or so Elijah said. Time and agin they'd gingerly step onto a piece of solid-looking ground only for it to sink under their feet. As a precaution they tied the rope round their waists and continued one foot at a time. There was a rancid smell like rotten eggs combined with old sneakers. They had to spend time and energy skirting round every other puddle in order to keep going east, detouring massively out of their way. It was frustrating seeing the passage you needed to take in order to keep on track disappear into sucking quick sand.

As they walked doggedly on, Elijah with one hand in Sean's, the other clutching at the chain round his neck where it was galling him, they discerned in the distance something that looked like twinkly lights. They moved on even more gingerly, arguing between them whether it was a mass of campfires in the far distance or some form of insect life like fireflies.

"What, and the campfires are for iddy biddy people? Flower fairies perhaps," Sean said with asperity, wrinkling his nose as the black mud he had stepped into gave off a pungent odour.

"At least it's a workable theory - unlike your fireflies. Were they exposed to radiation or something cos they must be gigantic."

Lij glared at him.

"What does the book say, oh learned Hobbit?"

Sean was about to answer - without confessing that for the time being he couldn't quite remember - when he felt his feet sinking quickly. Elijah grabbed his arm and pulled but the mud had a powerful suction thing going. The Ring trilled its delight. Sean was trying to lever his legs out which was only speeding up his descent. Elijah tried to remember every movie he had ever seen about sinking sand - which were exactly nil - and felt himself start to sink. He managed to pull his feet out with some difficulty and resolutely ignored the Ring which was showing images of Sean suffocating to death in the mud.

"Hold on!"

He remembered in movies about ice, people always seemed to throw themselves on the ground to spread their weight. Sounded a good idea.

"Keep still, don't move, Seanie. It'll be all right."

"No! Get back. It'll suck you in too!"

Sean was breathing fast now, his eyes absolutely terrified.

"Leave me!"

"I'm not leaving you! Keep still, I said. Don't you dare sink!"

Elijah noticed a tree trunk, a poor twisted thing, and quickly tied the rope to it. Then giving Sean a confident smile he didn't feel, he grabbed him securely and heaved with all his strength.

"I've got you. Almost there. Pull!"

With a satisfying squelch, Sean plopped out of the mire, toppling Elijah over. The younger actor grasped him tightly.

"Don't you ever do that again," he said between painful gasps.

"Don't you ever tell me to leave you again!" Elijah punched him hard in the chest then for good measure did it again. "Ever! Promise. Promise, Astin!"

Sean hugged him even harder, ran his hands though the dishevelled hair as though convincing himself that they were both still alive.

"I promise. I'm sorry, Lij."

They curled up together until their heart rates normalised, both of them distressed and shocked. Eventually Sean levered them to their feet.

"Now at least I know how Doctor Foster felt," he quipped.

Elijah decided to ignore him.

 

They marched on, both inwardly cringing every time they had to step in a puddle. Sean was still shocked and Elijah took the lead, his heart in his mouth but feeling protective of his friend. They now had a new problem - night was falling fast and there was nowhere to rest safely. The tufts of marsh grass which they were trying to use were never much bigger than a Hobbit foot and most of them had a disconcerting habit of drifting from under you. None could take their weight for anything more than a few minutes. There was nothing for it but to continue for as long as possible in the direction of the lights in the hope of finding somewhere later before the dark overtook them. The ghostly lights were approaching fast. They looked like they were coming from the very ground itself now.

It was a real race forward to get to safety - they hoped - before the last light fell and they had to take heart-stopping risks which they would never have taken before. The ground grew steadily firmer to the consistency of just very wet grass after a rainstorm and both relaxed. They'd only just managed it. They could now see the ghost lights directly in front and they craned their necks curiously to see what the hell was causing such a weird luminesce. Elijah reared back at the first glance. Bodies. Dead bodies, thousands of them beneath the surface of the eerie pools, twisted and malformed. He gagged and looked away. Sean patted his back gently.

"I take it," Lij said with a fair stab at casualness, "there is no other way?"

Sean shook his head.

"We have to rest, Lij," he said.

"No fucking way. I'm not staying in this ...tomb."

Everywhere he looked skeletons, whitened with age and grotesquely twisted, looked up at him. The Ring pulled at the chain.

"We carry on - there's enough light from our ... hosts. Let's go."

 

Striding purposefully on, he felt Sean clutch his hand. He decided to chatter to try to take their minds off their surroundings.

"So how many of the Seven Dwarfs can you name?"

"What?"

"C'mon - how many?"

"All of them. Doc, Dopey, Bashful, Grumpy, Sleepy, Sneezy and Doc."

"Said him."

Sean counted on his fingers, mumbled names. He glowered at Lij.

"Okay Superbrain, who am I missing?"

"Happy."

Sean muttered about smart Alec kids and asked, "Okay, my turn - name all the Von Trapp kids."

"Who the hell?"

" From the `Sound of Music', idiot."

Elijah shrugged.

"Never seen it."

"You've never seen - how could you possibly not have seen the `Sound of Music'? You're sick. And you were chosen as the Ringbearer - that's frightening."

 

They passed the long hours quizzing each other going from naming all the dwarves in the Hobbit - which neither of them could do though Sean thought Groin was one - to thinking of as many names as possible starting with each letter of the alphabet. Their feet were sore and sensitive and their calf muscles ached from all that undulating ground but they kept going while the corpses of the long ago battle stared up at them malevolently. They stopped for a brief rest sometime in the night where a convenient tuft of scrubby grass hid the pools from their eyes. Sean whiffed like he'd been swimming in a cess pit - or so Elijah said - but he still gathered him close. The Ring was growing heavier on its chain and his shoulders ached from hunching forward. As they were about to resume, sudden unreasoning terror gripped them and they cowered together trying to hide from the sky. A black bat- like creature soared overhead, a vast shadow of fear. It scudded across the sky and with a deadly cry went away westwards. But the shadow of horror returned passing lower and the two, out in the open with nowhere to hide, cast their elven cloaks over their bodies and clutched each other. Then the fell beast was gone, back to Mordor.

The Ring's song surged in Elijah's mind as though roused by the winged thing and again he saw the Great Eye: it was searching for him. His heart was going to pound out of his chest. Not knowing what he was doing, not caring as long as the Eye left him alone, he slipped on the Ring. For the rest of his life he wished he hadn't.

The great Eye, wreathed in the inferno of hell, slowly pivoted and looked directly at him. An evil language filled his mind yet he understood the words instinctively.

*Baggins, see your future*

A gout of flame obscured the Eye and when it subsided Elijah could see a tower in the distance which zoomed towards him. It was composed of three tiers like a grotesque wedding cake and the roof was flat. On top of the roof, seemingly incongruous, was a turret with a steeply angled pointed roof. The tower was walled and Elijah felt his eyes drawn to the gate. There was no door but instinctively he knew it required none: two silent malevolent statues squatted there, breaking the will with their menace. His gaze was ripped from its contemplation of the outside to the interior of the turret.

The light from a greasy lantern illuminated the scene: Elijah himself was stood there, or rather hunched there, naked and cringing before two terrifying orcs. One held a whip of metal and bone while the other seemed to be questioning him. He could see his body mottled with bruises and his back was lacerated by bleeding stripes from the lash. Blood was smeared down his thighs. The merciless voice in his mind informed him that this was his future if he chose to resist the Dark Lord. His mind was cowed by the terror and helplessness of his future self. He could feel his sanity retreating and he was so very weary. So much easier to give in, to stop fighting. Then something stirred deep within him. He couldn't. An image of Sean came to his trapped mind - it was enough. With a yell that could probably be heard all over Mordor he pulled the Ring off.

 

Sean had tears in his eyes as he clutched him close.

"I tried to pull the Ring off you but I couldn't, it felt white hot and it wouldn't budge, not even an inch."

Elijah couldn't speak, he simply huddled against Sean, tried to get away from the images he could still see. He felt his lover kiss him, stroke his hair and the tenderness began to ease him. His heart rate returned to normal. At Sean's insistence he managed to choke down a little water and lembas - Sean's logic was that the memory of the elves would relieve the darkness. It was a long time before he could speak.

"The Ring showed me an image of myself in some sort of tower. I was being tortured."

Sean had gone pale and Elijah could read the recognition in his eyes for all the other tried to hide it.

"What? Where is this place?"

Sean swallowed. He lay down with Elijah resting over his heart, rubbed his hands over the shaking, trembling frame.

"It's called Cirith Ungol."

"I remember the name vaguely - Peter was going to show me the set a few days before the teleportation but in the end it wasn't ready. Tell me."

"The Hobbits follow Gollum to the pass of Cirith Ungol which I think is supposed to be an underground passage. Gollum betrays them and leads a whopping big spider to them - "

"Sheila!"

" - Shelob. They fight but Frodo is poisoned and Sam thinks he's dead so he decides to leave the body and go it alone."

Sean clutched at Elijah - now he had had a taste of what Sam endured, he found he could empathise totally with the naked despair the Hobbit felt at that point.

"He takes the Ring and proposes to continue the quest. Meanwhile some orcs - I think it's orcs - find Frodo who is not dead and for reasons I'm not sure on they stick him in the tower of Cirith Ungol until they are told what to do with him. Sam overhears a conversation and realises his master is alive so he goes to rescue him. He ... he finds Frodo as you described."

"Why didn't you tell me? All you said was they had delays."

Elijah looked at him with hurting blue eyes but there was a determination in them.

"Because I thought we'd avoided Cirith Ungol. Gollum's dead and I've told you we are going east at the mountains. There is absolutely no reason why we should need to go anywhere near it."

"That's not the point. You should have told me."

"Why? So you could worry?"

"So I could prepare!"

Elijah had pulled away and his hands were clenched in anger.

"I know why you kept quiet - I understand - but, fuck, I need to know. Don't you think it's better if we both make these decisions?"

He looked much more like the self assured confident Elijah of old; the Elijah who knew himself and where he fitted in.

"We have to make future decisions together."

Sean nodded. Lij looked away for a moment, obviously struggling with conflicting emotions - anger and frustration at his lover's omissions, terror at what the vision had showed him and gratitude for Sean's love. The love won out. He snuggled on top of his lover, kissed the lips gently in forgiveness.

"I'm the Ringbearer, Seanie, I have to know. I want to know it all - everything they go through."

 

Sean told his lover as much as he could remember as they resumed their long slogging march. He had read the book upon hearing he had been chosen for an audition and had probably got the part because he could ramble on about Sam's close relationship with Frodo. During filming, he had adopted Ian's habit of reading the pertinent chapter of the scene they were currently filming. He could therefore talk knowledgeably about the Fellowship - especially the changes and omissions Peter had made - but the later books were a little more vague.

He had read them, enjoyed them, knew the plot and quite a few specific details but his memory of sequence was a little foggy. Certain things eluded him and there were certain scenes which made no sense to him now because he had forgotten the motivations and reasons behind them. Still he surprised himself with how much he did know and storytelling did at least relieve the monotony of endless walking.

"So it's because of Gollum that they end up in Shelob's lair and Frodo, subsequently in the tower?"

Elijah asked with the air of one who wants to ensure his facts are straight.

"Sure. Since Gollum is dead, we've removed that path from our destiny."

He tried to explain to Elijah exactly what had happened at the pool in Lothlorien and how that tied in with their changed destiny. He tried to describe the uneasiness, the dreams he'd been having about Gollum but the words wouldn't come out right. It was very frustrating - he wanted to open up his head, point to the feelings there and say `There - that's what I mean. That's what Gollum means.' Elijah listened attentively but obviously didn't understand why his lover was making a big deal of the Gollum thing. Like Sean had done on Anduin he dismissed the death of Gollum as a positive event, something that concerned them only because it removed nasty possibilities from their future. He certainly wasn't impressed with Tolkien's ending of the Mount Doom chapter and called Gollum's intervention and death contrived - a clumsy attempt by the author to redeem his fallen creation. He didn't appear to think it had any relevance to their own situation or future. The conversation turned to other matters as daylight dawned. They found a miserable depression in which to rest for the day - the nazgul had convinced them that travelling in the daylight was no longer an option. As he prepared for sleep, Sean again found his thoughts wandering to Gollum - but he couldn't keep his eyes open after the long exhausting slog and fell asleep.

That night they resumed their journey. Elijah felt weary beyond normal tiredness. He had been used to early mornings and fifteen hour days on set and had been reasonably healthy, smoking notwithstanding, going to the gym, watching what he ate. In Middle Earth he had developed into a raging insomniac. He seriously couldn't remember the last time he had slept peacefully for the whole night. Every morning had been a struggle to get out of bed (or off the floor actually) and face another gruelling slog which took all his energy. He woke tired, went to bed tired. It wasn't just the lack of sleep - he was young, Hobbits were resilient and he managed to catch forty winks especially on the River - it was ... the Burden. It had always seemed a rather dramatic way of describing what was after all one piece of gold jewellery - but now he understood. Bearing the Ring was like carrying an extra dead weight which hurt his back, pulled his muscles and chafed his tender neck. Sometimes he really did think of it as an invisible force which he was physically carrying. Mentally it was even worse - he was repulsed and fascinated by the Ring. He spent all his waking moments - or so it seemed - battling with himself and it, resisting it, shutting out its images, summoning up other thoughts. The amount of mental effort it took just to keep the thing from taking over was enervating.

The Company - especially Ian and of course Sean - had understood something of his suffering and he had been comforted by their support and encouragement. But he had not wanted to show his weakness nor the extent of the Ring's possession. He knew his friends relied on him, needed to believe that he was strong enough to be the Ringbearer. He had tried to be strong for them. The Burden had got progressively worse since he had put on the Ring above Rauros. Every step felt literally like a mile and he was wracked with pain from head to toe. Sean was watching him. He couldn't even summon a smile but his lover understood.

"Come on, Lij, lean on me," and with that casual statement Sean took most of his weight, supported him as they crawled through the marshes.

"How are we doing?" he asked when he had called a halt and they had collapsed briefly to consume lembas.

"Not bad," Sean said around a mouth of waybread. "As far as I can tell, we cut our counterpart's journey through the Emyn Muil by about two days. We've lost a bit of time going through these stinking marshes - I guess Gollum was better at finding a path than we are - but we are still a day ahead, I reckon."

Elijah nodded wearily, wishing the whole thing was over. He really did not think he could face many more days of this.

"How long before we can expect to find Mount Doom?"

Sean laughed explosively.

"Shit, Lij, I don't know! And, do you know, I don't happen to have `The Atlas of Middle Earth' upon my person."

"Guess."

"This is real guesstimation. I think it took the others about three or perhaps four weeks - but remember they went all round the houses because of Gollum. I think they only managed a few miles every day towards the end. For us - two days through the Nomans-lands before the gates, another two say to get down ..." He tailed off counting on his fingers. "I'd say 2 weeks maximum."

Elijah trembled.

"Two weeks? That long!? Oh God, Seanie, I don't think - "

"It's okay, sshh." Sean gathered the sobbing Hobbit close. "We'll make it. Rest a while now. Try to sleep - I'll watch over you."

"No, we have to keep going."

"Have a nap first then we'll go. Relax." He kissed him gently and, as the other snuggled against him, Sean again rubbed the sore shoulder muscles and back.

They had not gone far after their rest when they felt the shadow of fear that was the ringwraith returning. They scuttled into a ditch filled with stinking corpses and cast their cloaks over themselves again. This time it was so much worse. Sean held tightly to Lij, held both his wrists so that the Hobbit could not be tempted to put the Ring on. They both moaned as the wraith screeched its hate and malice. Elijah felt he was being torn apart. The Eye blazed at him, seemed to look into his very soul, peeling away every defence with casual ease. His helplessness terrified him. The Ring spoke, told him he was lost. Again images from Cirith Ungol flashed before him. He had hoped knowledge of that place would help, that he would be able to deny the Ring with his conviction that they had avoided this place. The Ring laughed at him, stripped away his belief. Every step, it said, takes you closer.

Sean saw the thing hover overhead and the Ring's song - which he had long resisted - crooned in his mind: He saw Cirith Ungol and Elijah on all fours. And he saw himself there too sobbing and crying at what they were forcing him to do to his lover. The mindless horror seemed to drop into a dive as though it had sensed them then, amazingly, it suddenly veered off with a screeching cry and raced away on vast noiseless wings towards the west as though summoned on some deadly business.

**21**

Ian threw his cloak over the evil Stone and knelt down by Billy's inert form. His heart was in his mouth. He was vaguely aware of Orlando shouting at Viggo, and Dom - who had apparently arrived during the terrible struggle - demanding answers. Theoden and Eomer were holding him back by brute strength. For a Hobbit he was putting up one hell of a fight.

"Quiet all of you!" Ian roared. Dom offered a final squeak then the whole company fell deadly silent.

"Orlando, leave Viggo be. He's in shock. Let him rest. Help me with Billy - both of you."

Ian felt for the Hobbit's pulse. Nothing. He felt the panic rising. CPR. He needed to administer CPR. His mind had gone blank. Dom, however, was moving. The Hobbit covered his friend's mouth with his own, breathed into it, watching to see if Billy's chest rose. He pressed down on his ribs 15 times, breathed into him again. 15 compressions, another breath. His world had shrunk to the life beneath his hands. 15 compressions, another breath. He heard Orli say something, felt himself being pulled off his friend's body. He fought mindlessly until the words penetrated - Billy was breathing independently. He collapsed against Orlando. Ian, who had got himself under some kind of control, knelt by the unconscious Hobbit's side. The Scot was breathing fine but his eyes remained fixed and sightless, his little body rigid in some kind of spasm. Gingerly he placed his hand on the Hobbit's cold forehead, touched Billy's mind. He felt only darkness. It was all right for Gandalf, he knew what he was doing - Ian did not. He exerted his will, felt the power surge through him like volts of electricity and commanded Billy to come back. The Hobbit seemed to relax all at once and he clutched at Ian. The old wizard gathered him close, reached out for Dom who grabbed hold of his best friend fiercely, almost toppling Ian over. Viggo stumbled over and Ian regarded him over the Hobbits' heads.

"What happened? Vig?"

Billy had his face buried in Dom's shirt. He wasn't crying but his breathing was laboured. Viggo offered them all a smile, a relieved grateful smile.

"We're okay. It's okay. It worked."

"Viggo, please!" Orlando prodded the Ranger hard.

"It was almost too much. But he was too eager and afraid to question us properly. He saw a Hobbit and the King of Gondor revealed in power."

Ian nodded, his legs suddenly wobbly.

"It worked, thank the Valar. Let us hope it has turned the Eye from our friends."

Ian had hardly finished speaking when the sound of horns shattered their preoccupation.

"What the hell was that?!" Viggo shouted.

The camp was in uproar. The horses were stampeding. Men were running this way and that, shouting at each other and the horses. Fires and brands flared into life. Theoden was striding towards them but before he could speak Orlando gasped as he looked into the sky:

"There! A black shadow! It comes!"

Ian felt the sweat prickle on his skin.

"A Ringwraith mounted on a winged serpent. The Enemy sent it in response to your challenge."

He grabbed his staff, added judiciously.

"Didn't take him long, did it?"

Orlando had notched his bow and was sighting the evil creature. The great ash bow, given to him by the Lady of the Woods, sang. There was an ungodly screech and the beast folded its wings, diving at full force towards the earth. But the Ringwraith himself was not dead. Fear gripped the company and strong hearted men fled. Viggo, however, withdrew Anduril and the metal gleamed coldly. The evil one was approaching, arrayed in might. Viggo's eyes went flat. He saluted it and it unsheathed its own morgul blade. Ian and Orlando spread out to the sides so that they and Viggo formed a rough triangle round it. Orlando loosed two arrows in quick succession but the wraith flicked them away as though they were flies.

Viggo shouted "Elendil!" and struck. The wraith parried the thrusts almost disdainfully, moving in closer. It raised its gauntleted hand and Viggo dropped to the floor like a rag doll. The wraith swung its sword to decapitate the man but Ian blocked the thrust. It whirled on the wizard, hissed at him and he fell back, sickened. Then Viggo was rising to his feet and with one fell swoop he sent Anduril through the thing's body. The black robes fell empty to the ground. Viggo swayed on his legs, fighting the urge to throw up.

"Is it dead?"

"No. Only the destruction of the One can kill it. But it has returned to its master, empty and shapeless."

Ian sheathed his sword and strode to the Hobbits' side.

"What are you doing?" Dom asked.

"There isn't a moment to lose. Sauron has been tricked. The advantage is ours - for the time being. We must use it."

He gathered Billy into his arms and practically sprinted to where Shadowfax was waiting for him. The white horse lowered his great head graciously and allowed the Hobbit to be placed on his back.

"I leave immediately. Aragorn, make haste to Gondor. Our hope is in stealth no longer. Follow fast! Away Shadowfax!"

And before anyone could get a word in the great beast was galloping away, Ian's robes flying behind him.

"A beautiful restful night" Dom said, unconsciously echoing Merry's words.

"Now what?"

"I do not know for sure. All roads lead to Mordor. Thither we must go," Viggo stated as he packed up his sparse belongings.

"Thither? You just said `thither.' You sound like a bad Shakespeare play, Viggo mate."

"So Orli says. Let's break camp. We have to make haste." Dom pulled a wry face.

"Verily," he agreed sardonically.

Dawn was just breaking after that long night when the sound of hooves was heard. Viggo rode forward. Ahead of him was a small party of perhaps thirty men.

"Who the hell?" he muttered. A lone horseman, tall and elegant, rode forward and held his hand out, palm upward in token of peace. Viggo had the uncomfortable feeling he should know this man very well but Aragorn's memories refused to supply the answer. Thankfully Eomer stepped forward to demand the stranger's name.

"Who are you? And what is your haste?"

"Halbarad Dunadan, Ranger of the North I am," cried the man with considerably more aplomb than the situation demanded. "We seek Aragorn son of Arathorn."

"And you have found him also!"

Viggo managed and half fell off his horse: it wasn't a particularly auspicious beginning. His mind was working furiously. These men must be Rangers, Aragorn's lot from the north who guarded the Shire. Halbarad was watching him and for something to do Viggo hugged him, feeling the other man clasp him tightly. For his ears alone, Halbarad said, "I missed you, Estel."

Viggo pulled away gently and used every acting technique he knew to telegraph love and friendship to this friend whom he did not know. Halbarad relaxed noticeably and Viggo felt poignancy stir - he would never know what his counterpart and this man had shared.

Two more riders approached Viggo and dismounted with the innate grace of elves. They both hugged him hard, spoke elvish to him but Viggo had recovered his wits and was able to identify them easily - Elrohir and Elladan, the sons of Elrond.

He remembered in the film, Peter had decided that Arwen would join her brothers at this point. It was a controversial move on the director's part and, apparently, there was a lot of muttering about it on the Internet. They hadn't filmed the scene of course but Viggo now remembered a conversation he had had with Liv where she had mentioned it. The riders set off again and Viggo had to work hard to maintain the false camaraderie. It was especially difficult when his erstwhile friends mentioned some obscure event of the past which Viggo had no memory of. Thankfully Orlando and Dom rallied round, smoothly diverting attention from their fellow actor's lapses.

Elrohir said, "I bring word to you from my father."

Viggo nodded sagely.

"I long for the words of Elrond, half Elven." That sounded pompous enough.

"He says: The days are short. If thou art in haste, remember the Paths of the Dead."

That meant absolutely nothing to him. He pretended to digest this news gravely.

"I would indeed be in haste before I took that road."

Dom came to the rescue.

"Excuse me, Master Elladan, I am but a humble Hobbit of the Shire and I do not understand this reference."

Elladan bowed his head to the Hobbit.

"It is a dark road, Master Perian. I can say only this: in the time of Isildur, the Men of the Mountains refused to fulfil their oath to fight against the Dark Lord. They were cursed to remain undead until a time when the heir of Isildur would drive them from their graves."

Something stirred in Viggo and suddenly he knew what he had to do. He threw back his cloak and withdrew Anduril, holding the flaming sword aloft.

"Thus must we part Theoden King. For I seek now the road most perilous. Go you to Rohan with all speed to muster your men. I seek the Paths of the Dead. Come with me those who will!"

Dom was obstinate. He stood with little arms folded across his chest and point blank refused to leave Viggo and Orlando. Viggo knelt by him, drew him into his arms.

"You have to leave us, Dommie."

"Like fuck I do."

"Merry goes with the Rohirrim."

Dom crushed the Ranger to him.

"Please Vig, I can't. I don't want to be alone. I want to come with you! Please!"

"I know, I know." Viggo felt tears prickle. "But you have to go with Theoden. You have something important to do. Don't make it any more difficult than it is, baby. We'll see you in Gondor, I promise."

"I don't want to lose you."

"Hey I'm the King. I'm not going to be lost." Viggo held out his hand and Orlando covered it. They both waited for Dom but he shook his head, mutely.

Orlando stroked back the curly hair.

"You have to be brave, Dommie. Remember your choice at Rauros? This is another choice you must make."

The Hobbit's jaw clenched but he covered their hands with his own tiny one. Dom hugged them both hard then, with a look of determination, he strode away without a backward glance. Orlando found his fingers were digging into the palm of his hand at the thought of leaving yet another friend. He felt for Vig's hand, needing the man's strength. Vigo squeezed it hard, smiled at him but as he let the elf's hand go he saw Elladan regarding them quizzically.

Dom, feeling isolated and alone among a group of men whose culture and ways were strange to him was summoned before Theoden. He bowed low, careful not to overbalance.

"We ride to Gondor within the hour, swordthain. This is no journey for such steeds as Stybba as I have told you. And in such a battle as we think to make on the fields of Gondor what would you do Master Meriadoc, swordthain though you be and greater of heart than of stature."

It took a few seconds for Dom to unravel that garbled sentence into some semblance of understandable English. He felt his blood beginning to boil. He'd suffered at the hands of orcs, fought the Voice of Saruman, roused the ents - seen his best friend orally raped. And Theoden dared to ask him what he would do in battle??

"With all due respect," he said with no respect at all, "I'd do what I've been doing since I was torn from my home - fight. Even the smallest person can change the course of history." He felt quite good throwing that at him.

Theoden raised a surprised eyebrow.

"I will say no more," he stated coldly. Dom opened his mouth to say something then he wheeled around and stormed out of the Golden Hall.

Sitting on a knife would be more comfortable than this, Dom thought miserably as he jiggled up and down on Eowyn's horse in front of the grim rider. It wouldn't have been too bad if he could have ridden behind the woman but because of the cut of the saddle that was impossible and Dom was forced to ride practically on the horse's bony neck. Eowyn had appeared before him yesterday as he had been watching Theoden and his men leave and Dom had gratefully accepted her invitation to ride with her. She'd called herself Dumbhelm or something but Dom was a good judge of the male form and Eowyn's attempt to pass as a man were almost laughable. As they rode they tried to keep conversation going but it was hard. Dom realised that this was probably the first resident of this reality whom he'd actually talked to about other things than death and destruction. Eowyn felt like an outcast and Dom, feeling excluded and worthless at the tail end of an army, abandoned by his friends, could relate to that.

Talk on a personal level was more challenging. He knew very little about his adoptive country and the interests and hobbies of his real life would be meaningless to her. After a while, when they had exhausted such topics as the weather (the Rohirrim were almost as obsessed as the English) and Hobbits' furry feet, Dom decided to abandon truth and regaled her with stories of the Hobbits playing football (North Farthing Rover 2: East Farthing United nil) and a beer they brewed called Buddweiser.

They rode for many days and the countryside rolled away beneath their feet. It was a strange feeling this sudden forced inertia. Since becoming mired in this reality, Dom had lurched from one danger to the next, never given respite or the time to dwell on his choices. The long gruelling marches had removed everything from his mind except the willpower to put one aching foot in front of the other.

Now he had nothing to do but think.

He thought about Elijah and Sean, wondering if the palantir had bought them the time they needed. It was funny but he couldn't summon up an image of them that didn't have a brooding volcano behind it. The two men he had known in New Zealand seemed like people he had met years ago, people who didn't exist anymore. His thoughts returned the most, however, to Billy. He missed the Scottish bastard with all his heart. They'd been close on set of course but the months over here had thrown them together to such an extent that Dom seriously couldn't remember a day when he had not seen Billy or heard his voice or a night when he had not slept at Billy's side. They had become as inseparable as their counterparts whose names seemed somehow unfinished if you said just one - a Merryandpippin. He continually looked over his shoulder expecting to see Billy's Cheshire cat grin or see his bright blue jacket. He leaned against Eowyn and expected it to be Billy's arm that wrapped round him, his gentle brogue that told him to take courage.

But that didn't mean he loved Billy. It just meant he missed his best friend. It didn't help that Ian had given them no chance at closure after the palantir incident. The old knight had torn his best mate from him, galloping off into the night with him. But Dom remembered how it had felt to almost lose his friend, to breathe his life into his mate's lungs - and he remembered the odd fluttering in his heart as he had held him close afterwards.

But that didn't mean he loved Billy either.

Apparently he had been sleeping because he was jostled awake by Eowyn's horse moving from a bone-jarring trot to a bone-pulverising canter. He heard Eowyn draw his sword and he looked about them with trepidation. Horsemen flowed down the valley, their swords held high, their armour glinting. Down below, an army of orcs could be seen crawling over the land like loathsome ants. Eowyn spurred her horse and with a clear cry plunged after her compatriots; Dom hung on grimly and wondered what the hell he was going to do when Eowyn started fighting - apart from get chopped into a million pieces that is.

As the horse galloped towards their foe, they both noticed something was wrong; the horse slowed as if unsure and about them men muttered and hesitated. The Rohirrim had fought the orcs at Helm's Deep in a battle which was much more desperate than this and yet an aura of dread seemed to hang over them here. On cue, a bolt of lightening rent the heavens and a huge black shape came wheeling down. Horses and men and orcs dove for cover as the great serpent-like beast landed with a screaming cry of malice and hatred. Its flaming eye darted this way and that and anyone foolish enough to meet that gaze fell away sickened. The shrouded figure, sat tall and imperious on its back, remained unmoving.

"What devilry is this?" Eowyn managed and Dom heard her voice crack. He shook his head, tried to form the words to tell her but he couldn't. Instinctively he knew the nazgul they had dispatched after the palantir incident had been nothing compared to this one. There was a flash of something white and for the insanest moment Dom actually thought it was Ian on Shadowfax then he realised it was Theoden. The king looked impossibly small and worthless as he drove his charger forward to challenge the beast. Eowyn gasped in anguish and before Dom could stop her, she was spurring her terrified horse towards the man whom she loved as her father.

The stench close to was obscene but it was the aura of corruption and despair that had sent courageous men to their knees. The robed figure on the beast's back raised a clawlike hand and Theoden's horse crumpled. The old man, with more agility than the Hobbit would have given him credit for, leapt off his horse's back and smote at the winged creature. The snake-like head whipped round and the evil jaws fastened around his body. He lay there as limp as a rag doll then the beast spat him out and, with a cruel talon, crushed him to death.

There was deadly silence.
The Nazgul lord remained immobile as though the petty attempts of these mortals was not worth his time and effort but someone else was moving: Eowyn. With a grief-stricken cry she raised her sword, spurred her horse and galloped full tilt at the creature. Too late it spun to meet her - the momentum of horse, woman and Hobbit crashing into its loathsome neck broke it with a satisfying crack. Dizzily, Dom struggled to his knees. He couldn't breathe. Such fear and loathing gripped him that his heart was going to stop. Something landed within his restricted field of view - the iron clad boots of the Nazgul lord as he leapt off his fallen mount. Dom gagged and tried to cringe away from him but there was nowhere to go.

"Begone!" said a clear voice and Dom raised his head to focus on Eowyn. She stood gleaming in the sunshine, her face contorted with great fear but determination too.

"I will bear thee away to the houses of lamentation beyond all darkness where they flesh shall be devoured and thy shrivelled mind be left naked to the Lidless Eye."

Dom saw the woman's courage failing but she lifted her head, her golden hair haloed in the sun, and raised her eyes to meet the evil one.

"Do what you will but I will hinder you if I may!"

"No living man can hinder me! I am the Witch King, mightiest of the Nazgul."

"But no living man am I!"

Eowyn laughed and it seemed even the Nazgul was taken aback. Dom struggled to his feet, this woman's courage triggering his own. He drew his sword quietly. It was probably the hardest thing he had ever done to walk forward from the protection of the fallen beast to face the Nazgul but he remembered Billy's sacrifice and somehow despite the fear he smiled.

"Nor I!" Dom yelled and the Nazgul whirled towards him as he sank his blade into its knee. It seemed a shroud of horror and torment and darkness descended over him, suffocating him, destroying his will. The last thing he saw was Eowyn's sword sinking into the Nazgul's chest.

For a second he saw Billy's face clearly then everything went dark.

**22**

Neither could talk of their horrors and they resumed their journey with something close to hopelessness. The marshes were behind them but Elijah looked out with horror upon the land they now entered. The Dead Marshes with their noisome remains had frightened them both but at least they were part of nature. Grass grew there, scrubby and choked to be sure but alive. Here nothing grew or breathed, not even maggots or flies. All was wasteland, a shattered country of crushed rock and dust: the desolation of Mordor. For a while they stood there like men on the edge of sleep knowing nightmares awaited them then, with a weary sigh, they trudged on. Not because they felt resolve to do so but because there was no other option. They bowed their heads against the swirling cloying dust and held hands. They could not speak. Time and again they fell to their knees, hopelessness claiming them. There was no light, no respite. They couldn't gather the strength to comfort each other, their wills so broken first by the nazgul now by this sick land. The quest was immaterial. Elijah knew with something like relief that he would fail: there was no alternative. The Ring choked him but it did not matter. They crawled forward - not because that was their path but because there was no choice. In order to escape, they must go forward. All directions looked the same; they could not retreat and they could not stand still. The only option was to stumble and stagger on. Morning came at last but the touch of the sun didn't ease their suffering - they felt exposed and even more vulnerable in this flat land where eyes bore into their skulls. They could not face stopping, even though they knew continuing in the full glow of the sickly sun was folly, so they carried on, practically on their hands and knees. They would have cried had there been tears to shed.

By the following morning the desolation was behind them. Before them were the mountains of Mordor and they crept into their comforting presence with relief. They felt their souls had been ripped apart. Between two arms of the mountain dropped a deep defile, the Haunted Pass, the entrance to Mordor. After their journey through the wasteland it seemed about as scary as Hobbiton. But across the mouth of the pass rose a rampart of stone with a great black gate of iron: the Black Gate, Sean said. Looking at it, huddled in the sparse safety of a few rocks, the two Hobbits realised just how ridiculous their intention to pas that gate had been. Sentries paced unceasingly and beneath the rampart, in the tunnels of the dank earth crouched hundreds upon hundreds of orcs.
They were stuck.

If the Gate were closed, Sean had once confidently stated, they would turn east, follow the mountains and enter Mordor from the opposite side to their counterparts. There was, however, a problem with this plan. The maps in Lothlorien had been a tad inaccurate with regard to the Black Lands because try as they might they could find no breach in the mountains, no valley or pass whatsoever to take them round on that side. It was a crashing monumental blow and Sean had the uncomfortable feeling that things were now going exceedingly pearshaped. Although he kept his worse doubts from Elijah, he was honest enough with himself to acknowledge that he was very worried indeed now. Having to turn west at the mountains meant they were once again following the feet of their counterparts - and every step took them closer to Cirith Ungol. The Tower could still be avoided - since it was Sam's abandonment of Frodo that lead directly to his torment in the Tower - but Sean couldn't shake the growing feeling that they were fated to follow their counterparts.

They made good time south as they entered Ithilien. After the horror of the wasteland the change was so dramatic that it wouldn't have surprised either of them to learn that they had been teleported back to New Zealand. Tall pine woods spiked the air while heather covered lowland heath. This was a fair country and they found their spirits rising.

"What is this place? Did you call it Ith-something?" Elijah's voice was almost dreamy as he looked round with fresh eyes. He would never take simple things like grass and trees for granted again.

"Ithilien. It used to be a part of Gondor - I think. Only recently held by the Dark Lord." Sean looked about them as though expecting the man to come striding out from the heather.

"Faramir lives here."

"It will be good to hear how things are in the west." Elijah clutched at Sean's hand suddenly.

"Oh Seanie, I miss them all so much!"

"I know, I do too."

Elijah chafed at his neck where the weight of the Ring had cut into the skin. Sean noticed. He gathered Lij close, began rubbing his neck. Elijah melted against him, the touch so very familiar now.

"We are moving ever closer to Cirith Uncle, aren't we?" Elijah asked with the wistfulness of a child asking if an injection will hurt.

"There's no reason why we should suffer that fate, Lij." Sean kissed the back of his lover's neck. "True, we may have to find and use the pass - we may even have to face the demented spider. But we know what to do - use the Lightbulb of Galadriel. You won't get poisoned, I won't leave you, you won't get hobbit-napped."

"The ring showed me the tower again - when the nazgul flew past again."

Sean fought to keep his emotions hidden. He remembered his own vision that terrible night. He had promised to share everything with Elijah and he didn't mean to break his vow but he could not bring himself to admit what he had seen. The shame inside himself was too great. He had seen himself bending close over Elijah and he had seen the sneer on his face as though he were enjoying it. He knew it was the Ring but he still could not confess his fear to this broken Hobbit whom he held in his arms. Sean hugged him as tight as he could, wishing he could hold him even closer until they were one, until he could share his blood and flesh with this tormented soul.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better. When we get back, you should become a professional masseur."

"Sorry, only do it for my Lija."

They kissed and it felt so ... nice to let the troubles go, to forget the dark road. It was so pleasant to recall the softness of lips and with a start Elijah realised they had not made love since the breaking of the fellowship. He wrapped his arms round Sean's neck, nibbled at the slightly chapped lips.

"You're so beautiful," he said.

Sean snorted but his eyes danced. He allowed Elijah to take the initiative for a while but he knew what he wanted to do - to take Elijah, now here beneath the blue sky with loving hands and tender touches. To wipe out that sick nightmare. Ensure he was the first. Eventually Elijah pulled away for breath and Sean let him strip them both naked. He wrapped a curl of brown hair round his finger, stroked Elijah's nipples gently, watching the Hobbit's eyes close in joy.

"Lij?"

"Um?"

"I want you."

"I'm hardly going to run away, Seanie. Not in my birthday suit."

"I want to be inside you."

Elijah frowned and Sean backpedalled with the best of them, swearing it could wait, it didn't matter. Elijah pressed a kiss over his babbling mouth.

"Do you know how?"

Sean was, present circumstances notwithstanding, a heterosexual. Certain things about gay sex squicked him - penetration being one of them. Which made his desire to take Elijah rather unexpected. But he wanted Elijah, with his whole body and soul. He wanted them to be one, one flesh. Against the darkness to come, he wanted them to be one.

He helped Elijah get comfortable on the grass and, smiling, Elijah raised his knees again. There was something very exciting about knowing you were so exposed but that your lover would cover you; it was a statement of the unwavering trust he had in Sean. Sean kissed his nipples again and Elijah thrashed under the wet assault. Sean had a thing about nipples, he decided. He could feel Sean's hands shake slightly as they worked over his body - Sean who had been so strong. He realised that Sean always took the initiative. Not this time. He stilled the hobbit's hands with a gentle smile.

"My turn, Seanie," he said.

He rolled them over so Sean was underneath. He rubbed his body over the larger frame, enjoying the shudders his dance elicited. He lowered his head to a pert little nipple. Sean howled, bucking and shuddering as though Elijah had set fireworks off inside him - it explained the nipple obsession though. Elijah remembered how nice it had felt having Sean run his nails over his nipples but he couldn't reciprocate since he had no nails. The sorry affairs he had had were now so bitten that they were practically down to the stubs. He used his teeth instead, almost suckling him like a baby, using his tongue to flick against them or his teeth to gently bite them. Sean moaned and groaned and writhed. Good.

Eventually he tired of such easy sport and moved down to Sean's stomach. The older hobbit had been a little embarrassed by his weight but he had lost pounds over the last few months and anyway the extra suited his Hobbit physique. Elijah played dancing fingers over twitching muscles before turning his attention to Sean's genitals. His cock rose above his belly, slick and wet already. So eager. He stroked up and down a few times, trying to get the rhythm just right. Then he let his hands slip lower and massaged his balls. Sean groaned and lifted his hips.

"Harder!"

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Like it."

Elijah complied, pressing his fingers together over the sacs, enjoying the velvet hardness. Then he returned his attention to his lover's cock. Sean looked like he was going to blow but Elijah wanted him to last a while yet. He blew over the tip experimentally then hunched over and tongued it like it was a sweet he wasn't sure he was going to like the taste of. Nice. He licked more confidently, listening to his lover's moans to discover what kind of touch Sean liked where: soft wet licks over the sensitive top but round the ridges he liked nibbling licks. Sean thrashed his pleasure and Elijah kept him in ecstasy for as long as possible. Sean would buck into his mouth ready to come only for Elijah to move his talented mouth to less stimulating places.

"Ah Lij - please!"

"No way, Astin. I told you this is pay back for the last time."

"Starting to hurt, man!"

Elijah leaned up to his mouth, planted a smacker of a kiss there and stroked back the tangly hair.

"This is my play," he said throwing Sean's words from days earlier back at him.

He returned to Sean's genitals but ignored his cock completely, sending his tongue to sweep over his tight balls. Sean seemed to go limp.

"That good?"

"So good."

"You want to come, baby?"

"Need to."

Elijah wriggled into a more comfortable position and took Sean's balls into his mouth while he stimulated his erection with strong strokes of his hand. A few mindless frantic bucks and Sean came hard, calling Elijah's name as he did so. Elijah lifted his head, met Sean's rather dazed expression. He was overcome with love for this beautiful man who had given without question, who was prepared to walk through hell with him. Tears welled up in Elijah's eyes. Sean tugged him up his body and they lay regarding each other, tenderly - almost soberly. This moment should stretch for ever, Elijah thought. He kissed him, wanting to convey the depths of his feelings.

"I love you," he said.

Sean stroked a wondering hand over the too prominent cheekbones. He didn't smile; this moment was beyond such transparent mutable expressions.

"I love you too."

"Then make love to me."

Elijah returned to his original position and Sean remembered this was how they'd started. He seized up the cooking oil and unstoppered the cork. He massaged Elijah's calf muscles as he gazed down the Hobbit's perfect body. Then he slid a tender hand between his legs, found him hard and needy. Elijah pushed into his hand but he steadied him.

"We have to go slowly, Lij. Have to prepare you."

Elijah rolled his eyes but his hips settled and he opened his legs more fully. The amount of trust in that gesture amazed Sean. He teased and tickled his erection with one hand while he slid a slow oiled finger inside his lover's body. Elijah was scalding and his passage gripped the finger like a clamp. Sean stilled and increased the stimulation on his cock.

"Easy, Lija. Try to push out."

"What?"

"Never mind." Sean leaned close and took the tip of him in his mouth. Elijah groaned deeply and instinctively he pushed down on the invading finger. Sean worked it in and out a few times then carefully added a second. Elijah clamped down hard and both Hobbits found they were holding their breath. Sean whispered encouragement and love, stroked his free hand over his lover's tense body. He nuzzled and suckled the actor's penis and felt the muscles ease. He pushed his fingers in deeply and suddenly Elijah sighed, his body melting into boneless pleasure as Sean found that secret place.

Both of them groaned and Sean felt the vibration of Elijah's moan vibrate over his fingers. Wanting to return the favour he engulfed Elijah's straining cock into his mouth and groaned deep in his throat - Elijah shivered and trembled as the vibration hit the nerve endings in his cock.

"Lij, put some oil on me."

"What?" It was his favourite word of late. Sean could have been speaking elvish for all he knew.

Sean giggled - or was it a whimper.

"Please Lij. Need to be inside you. Put the oil on me." He crawled up Elijah and straddled his waist, resting his back against the other's raised knees. Elijah applied the oil with trembling fingers.

"Okay?"

Their eyes met again and they both smiled. Sean linked their hands together.

"Look at me, Elijah, I want to see your eyes."

"Shit, Sean." The intimacy of that gaze had Elijah blushing. Sean kissed him gently.

"Don't be shy. I want to see you - all of you."

So saying he slid carefully inside. Elijah tightened but he concentrated on the look in Sean's eyes and slowly relaxed. They seemed to remain joined, one flesh, for all eternity. Sean moved carefully then with increasing abandon as Elijah pulled his hips closer. Then Sean watched those glorious eyes shatter in the joy of completion and it triggered his own climax.

 

Elijah was sleeping peacefully. His skin looked almost transparent and Sean was struck again just how fragile the Hobbit was. He remembered a rather nice moment in the book where Sam made rabbit stew for his master. Sean couldn't remember when the scene came but decided this was as good a time as any to repeat it. In the last few months he'd become an expert at trapping game and was not disappointed to discover the traps he'd automatically laid last night presented him with two rabbits. Both of them, thank god, had been killed instantly. Smiling to himself, his cares forgotten for the time being, Sean set about skinning and dressing the meat. He'd found some herbs too and was delightfully occupied in imagining Elijah's gratitude. Rabbit would make a welcome change to lembas. He lit their small camp fire and hung his only remaining cooking pot over it. It still amazed him how long it took to cook anything over a wood fire - it could take hours. He'd been careful to brown the rabbit off before adding the stew ingredients. Elijah stirred in his sleep, moaning slightly. Sean saw him reach for the Ring and he quickly intervened. Elijah woke up, looking as innocent as a child. He rubbed at his eyes and Sean could see that the long hours of sleep had done little to relieve his exhaustion. The only thing that could do that was the destruction of the Ring. He slid behind Elijah so the younger actor could lean back against him. Elijah was still naked under the blanket and Sean amused himself for a few moments with the treasures of his body but after a few minutes he realised Elijah was tense.

"Are you okay?" A nasty thought occurred to him. "You're not hurting from last night, are you? Here, lemme see."

Elijah offered a small smile.

"I hurt like hell actually." He caught Sean's hand, kissed it. "But I'm glad. I feel complete. No, that's not the problem."

"What is?"

"Just the Ring's little games. I feel sick like I'm gonna throw up."

He'd never had much appetite in this reality, the Ring had seen to that, but now he couldn't face even thinking about food. The smell from Sean's pot turned his stomach. Sean rested a gentle hand on his lower belly.

"You have to eat, Elijah. Even if it's just lembas. We've got a long way ahead of us - "

"Don't you think I know that, Astin."

Sean made him meet his eyes.

"Little and often." He dolloped out a portion of the stew and handed it over. Then he sat down and pulled Elijah to sit in front of him between his legs. Elijah regarded the food like it was a particularly venomous snake. He'd gone an interesting shade of green.

Sean didn't know what to do. Perhaps in any other circumstance, he'd have left him alone, told him to fast for a day or so until his system told him it wanted feeding - but out here they did not have that luxury. Elijah had a long tiring march ahead of him, he needed all the energy he could get and that was without the additional energy required to resist the Ring. Sean speared a piece of rabbit and held it out for Elijah.

"I'm not a baby, Astin."

"So glad to hear it. Eat."

"I can't."

"Eat. Or I assist."

Elijah held his hand over his mouth as though he were going to gag. Sean stroked back his hair.

"I know. Don't think about it. Don't smell it or taste it. Just swallow it."

Elijah took the rabbit and chewed it in an intense fashion. As though he were swallowing a brick, he gulped it down. They carried on like that until a good portion had been eaten. Then Sean gathered him close, took his mind off his rebellious insides with silly prattle. Elijah gripped his hand and his skin felt damp. A few moments later he gave out a low agonised groan and clutched at his belly. Sean held him grimly, worked him through the stomach cramps, rubbing his belly gently and kissing any part of him that he could reach. Eventually the spasms ended and Elijah was able to relax. He'd kept the food down.

 

They heard the footsteps just as they were about to set off. Elijah's first instinct was to hide but Sean remembered about Faramir - so the two actors sat where they were and waited. A few minutes later they realised their mistake. A party of orcs crashed into view and there was absolutely nowhere to run. Sean drew his sword and killed a few but there were too many and the Hobbits were easily overwhelmed. Their arms were lashed behind their backs and forced forward at a pace that Elijah had no hope of maintaining. Despite the whip slicing into his flesh, he fell to his knees and weakly brought up the rabbit stew. As they were forced on, Sean felt cold fear grip him. If they did not escape, there was only one place they would be taken to - Cirith Ungol.

**23**

"I'm not your friend, by the way," Billy announced as Shadowfax flew through the grass. He felt Ian chuckle and prodded the old man in the ribs with a bony elbow.

"Indeed? And what have I done to deserve such a happy turn of events?"

Billy tickled his waist, nearly unhorsing both of them. Shadowfax turned his great head to regard them with an expression of vast disapproval. They rode on in silence for a few more miles. Billy watched the grass beneath his feet roll past, seriously impressed by Shadowfax's effortless speed. It was like being on a train at high speed when the view outside blurs into distorted greens and browns.

"It might help to talk about it," Ian said at length and Billy couldn't help but smile at yet another example of Ian being about a hundred steps ahead of him. It had been like that on set too: Ian would arrive at a conclusion while the rest of them were still struggling with the first thought.

"What should I say, Obi-wan - you seem to know it all." He spoke lightly enough but Ian was not fooled.

"The curse of foresight again, my dear Hobbit." Ian sighed heavily. "At our r-union I sensed what the orc did to you. I could see it clearly in my mind like the landscape of a dream."

Great, did everyone know?

He had the uncomfortable feeling that Viggo knew from their link over the palantir; Dom knew, Treebeard knew, Ian knew. Perhaps he should just hire a publicist.

"Let's just forget I mentioned it." His voice sounded tearful even to himself.

"Is that what you hoped to achieve through your affair with Dom? Forgetfulness?" Ian asked with a certain directness.

Billy tensed, pulled away from the other man's arms as much as he could.

"You've got a bloody cheek, McKellan!"

It occurred to Billy that he was stuck with this conversation - it wasn't like he could walk out, banging the door pointedly behind him. The notion that Ian might have deliberately engineered it that way didn't help his mood.

"Perhaps I dare interfere because I love you both so much." Ian paused. "Billy, Dom made a choice. Funny, how our reality here in Middle Earth seems to be governed by choices. He chose to help you in the only way he knew. I do not condone the choice he made but I condone the motive behind it. He wanted to help his best friend."

"By fucking with my mind as well as my body?" Billy spat back, deliberately coarsening his language.

Ian didn't raise to the bait. His voice remained urbane and charming as always.

"Your mind? Oh my dear boy no. Think Billy, did he at any point tell you your relationship was anything more than friendship? Did he ever speak of love or commitment? That fantasy was entirely yours. You misinterpreted him."

"I can't believe you're defending him!" Billy's voice rose unsteadily and he slammed his legs into Shadowfax's flanks, pummelled him hard, wanting to get off, get away.

Shadowfax screamed his anger and reared. Billy fell to the ground. Ian calmed the stallion down with a few soft words, dismounted to wait Billy's ire out. The Hobbit was cursing freely but there were tears in his eyes that threatened to spill.

"How can you defend him? He strung me along like I was a puppy on a string."

Ian patted Shadowfax absently while he regarded the distressed Hobbit.

"I am an old wizard, Billy, accounted wise. But I am also a terrified old actor who is homesick. I am not condemning you. My dear boy! How could I?"

Billy turned pointedly away. Ian hesitated, feeling like he was vastly out of his depth here, that everything was coming out wrong. He approached the Hobbit hesitantly and when Billy did not flinch away, he rested his hands lightly on the bony shoulders. He had become used to the reduced size of his fellow actors over the last few months but now it hit him with all the poignancy and grief of those early days. How much these brave people had given up, how much they had been forced to endure by fate.

"Billy, you were not to blame for the orc's assault nor are you to blame for wanting comfort and support from Dom. He tried his very best to help you. Maybe his best wasn't good enough but he gave it nevertheless. Forgive him." Ian turned the little Hobbit round, lifted his chin. "Because I have the feeling until you can forgive him, you can't forgive yourself."

They had ridden on the wings of fear for two days. Billy jostled and bounced on Shadowfax's broad back and gritted his teeth against the jarring of his bones. He couldn't sleep but spent the weary hours drifting in and out of awareness. He could tell by the tension in the old man's body and the occasional stifled groan that Ian was suffering too. They had stopped once to rest Shadowfax and had crouched miserable and hunched over a meal of dried meat.

Eventually the journey was over and Ian helped him scramble to the ground - it seemed a terribly long way down. Shadowfax was steaming in the pre-dawn light. Men came to lead the majestic animal away while Ian and Billy tried to pull themselves together enough for an audience with the Steward. As they tottered and hobbled and limped round their appointed room, Ian noted wryly that this part of Gandalf and Pippin's story had not made it into the book.

They cleaned themselves up and Ian led the way to Denethor's chamber, Billy trotting along at the wizard's side.

"Be careful of your words, Master Billy." Ian said softly to the Hobbit. "This is no time for Hobbit pertness."

"All right, you don't have to quote long swathes at the book at me!"

"Tell him no more than you need."

Billy snorted as they stood waiting at the chamber ready to be presented.

"That won't be difficult. It's not like I know much."

The door opened, seemingly magically - it didn't make Billy feel any more welcome - and the Hobbit looked into a great hall. It was lit by great deep set windows beyond black pillars which had strange figures and beasts carved upon them, reminding Billy of the gargoyles he'd seen in Gothic churches. Unlike Theoden's comfortable lived-in hall, this was austere. Billy felt Ian poke him in the back and reluctantly he followed the wizard down the long aisle. On either side stood great statues of men, carved from living stone. He shivered and - just like Pippin - thought of the Argonath.

He'd met the guy who was going to play Denethor in the film a couple of times. He'd been a Shakespearean type, commanding and noble. The real Denethor knocked spots off him. His majesty and authority were almost too much to bear and Billy felt like he was scruffy vagrant in comparison. The little Hobbit looked up at his companion and felt reassured to discover that the wizard seemed unmoved by the frigid welcome. The wizard spoke, his voice clear, steady.

"Hail, Lord and Steward of Minas Tirith, Denethor son of Ecthelion. I am come with counsel and tidings in this dark hour."

The still figure looked up and Billy saw an expression in those eyes which he had seen before. Only later would he remember where: in Saruman's hungry stare.

"Dark indeed is the hour if you are arrived." The old man's gaze seemed suddenly to rest on Billy - it didn't travel it just seemed to be there. "

Is this the one who was my son's companion for many days?"

Billy bowed and in that moment realised their problem: Denethor was grieving for Boromir whom Billy had never met or seen. The man who had travelled with him, who had ultimately died for him, was not Boromir, but Sean Bean. Denethor smiled a cold smile at him and motioned Ian to a seat; the old man bristled but sat obediently. Billy was left to stand.

"Tell me of my son and how his death came about."

At first he felt silly and nervous but his years as an actor stood him in good stead. And as he talked the old man seemed to devour him with his eyes. Gandalf had said that Denethor was not like other men and Ian was forced to agree with his counterpart. The Steward was majestic, proud, wilful but he was also teetering on the brink of despair over the loss of his son whom he loved. Faramir Denethor treated with thinly veiled contempt - which Faramir accepted with dignity and maturity. The conversation turned to the Ring and Ian couldn't help but suppress a shiver at how much Denethor seemed to know. Billy had kept the matter of Elijah quiet but, somehow, the Steward perceived. He had given much thought to the words of the prophesy which (to his mind) had claimed the life of the wrong son.

"So the counsel of the Wise is to destroy this thing. If I had this thing in the deep vaults of this citadel, the men of Gondor would not shake with dread under this gloom. If you do not trust me to endure this test, you do not know me."

"I do not trust you," Ian said bluntly, "and I do not trust myself. The thing has passed from our hands."

"Into the land of Shadow from whence it came in the hands of a witless Halfling."

Again those merciless eyes seemed to rest on Billy and the Hobbit suppressed a shudder as a sudden thought hit him: Denethor was insane.

The days had kind of blurred for Billy. There was a pall of fear over the city of Minas Tirith. Below men worked sombrely to prepare for the siege all knew was coming; they worked with a stoicism beyond hope that was painful to watch for they knew defeat was inevitable. Billy tried not to look to the East where the great mountain rained fire but it was like an ever present itch in his mind that spoke of death and despair. Denethor had sworn him into service and he spent all his time running errands, helping with the defences and learning passwords - which he promptly forgot. His companion was supposed to be one Beregond but Billy had taken and instant and effortless dislike to the man and tried to avoid him whenever possible. The work was boring but not boring enough - it gave him far too much time to think and ruminate.

Ian he saw little except when the wizard returned to their room and collapsed for a few meagre hours sleep. Billy often woke up in the small hours to find the old man striding about the room, pipe in hand, mumbling into his beard. He looked old and creased now as though there was little hope in his heart. Tonight was one of those nights. The Hobbit woke from confused unrestful sleep to find Ian standing at the window looking east as though he could discern their friends' location.

"Ian?"

"Dear boy, I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep."

But Billy clambered out of bed, feeling more weary than before his rest - the bed was too big and too soft after months of sleeping on the floor.

"What are you thinking about?"

He climbed up on the bench beside the wizard and clasped his hand. Ian smiled at him but his eyes remained lost.

"Elijah and Sean," he whispered. A candle guttered and went out. Billy tried not to shiver.

"Where are they?"

"My heart tells me they are in Cirith Ungol."

"Then we failed!"

Ian patted his curly hair but his hand trembled.

"We diverted the Eye - it was all we hoped to achieve. But they were still captured."

Billy flopped against Ian in a daze. His friends captured and there was so little he could do. He felt the frustration well up. He was a man stuck in a Hobbit's body; too small to fight or help with the construction of the defences. All he could do was sit and watch hell descend on this land and know that his two friends were right smack in the centre of that hell. Being this close to Mordor was bad enough for he could sense a malevolence over the place, a stuffiness in the air that never cleared, a prickling at the back of his mind like some vast evil watching him. What, then must his two friends be suffering? He looked out at the gathering darkness, at the black clouds which seemed to be gathering over the once fair city of Minas Tirith and he heard Ian murmur, "The Darkness has begun. There will be no dawn."

It was midmorning of that long sunless day that Ian came striding towards Billy who was watching the siege of Gondor and, far off, the black ships of Viggo as they docked.

"Ian, what - "

"Come with me. Quickly."

Billy ran after his friend who was striding through the citadel at such a pace that soldiers and courtiers had to leap aside. The wizard stopped in front of a massive oak door; the guard trembled noticeably.

"Stand aside. I must see the Steward."

"The Steward is within. He left instruction that he and his son were not to be disturbed."

Ian's eyes flashed and those busy eyebrows of his seemed almost to quiver in his ire.

"Out of my way!"

The put-upon guard cringed away from the door and Billy followed his resolute friend up the staircase of what he presumed was the White Tower.

"Ian, hold on. What is going on?"

"Hurry! There's no time!"

There was resolve in the old man's face but beneath it a terrible horror. They reached the top. The air was heavy with acrid smoke and something else - Ian had sensed the same thing in Saruman's chambers - corruption. Ian banged on the door, both of them coughing and spluttering, then he spoke a terse word of command and the door erupted inwards.

Billy choked. Through streaming eyes he could discern what looked like a structure of criss crossing wood. Denethor stood before it, his eyes wild, insane; he held the palantir in his hands.

"You are just in time, Mithrandir. In this at least thou shalt not defy my will: to rule my own end!" and before either of them could stop him, he leapt onto the pyre of flaming logs. Ian ran forward to pull him free but the smoke choked him, sending him to his knees. Billy only just managed to drag him to safety. Ian's eyes were fixed on the pyre: Below Denethor, who held the shattered palantir of Gondor in his burning hands, lay the body of Faramir, writhing in helpless agony as the flames devoured him alive. The two actors stood together, watching the flames consume the steward and his son, they smelt the burning flesh and they heard the dying screams of the innocent man they had failed to rescue from his terrible death.

Billy ran from the room and was heartily sick on the landing. He felt Ian rest soothing hands on his shoulders, speak broken words to him.

"I have failed them, Billy," old man said as they trod on leaden feet down the stairs. The Hobbit felt too dispirited to argue.

"I forgot about the palantir."

"Viggo has it - it's safe."

"Denethor's. It cracked his mind. He sought to use it, to wrest control from the Dark Lord but his despair was too great."

Billy nodded, too numb to care but Ian continued in a hopeless voice: "But he knew of Elijah's mission. In his madness - or his anguish - Sauron would have perceived his mind. Our quest, our forlorn hope, has been revealed to him. He now knows that a Hobbit walks his land intent on the destruction of his precious."

"But they are in Cirith Ungol!"

"If they have not escaped..." Ian closed his eyes, fought for control. "If they *have* escaped, the great Eye will rove every inch of his accursed land for them. If they have not escaped, the Eye will perceive. They will die in hideous torment."

"There must be something we can do! Ian!"

Ian's eyes seemed to snap suddenly alert.

"There is. You must find Prince Imrahil. He is in charge until Viggo gets here."

"Me? What about you?"

Ian was now running full tilt down the remaining stairs and Billy slipped and slithered after him.

"I go to Mordor. It may be that Gandalf the White is enough of a lure to divert the Eye. Go to Imrahil."

"Are you crazy! How will your death help them? You're not thinking - "

Ian rounded on him.

"I am Maiar, Billy Boyd, I go where I choose."

"In a gloriously futile gesture? To absolve your guilt? They won't thank you for it. What happened is not your fault."

"Leave me!"

They had reached the courtyard by now, Ian some strides ahead and Billy having to sprint at top speed to keep the wizard in view. As he ran into the darkened courtyard he saw a glimmer of white: Shadowfax had heard his master's call and was waiting for him. Ian leapt onto his back easily. Billy grabbed hold of his foot.

"Please."

For a second he saw the horror and fear in those blue eyes then Ian leaned over, kissed his cheek.

"Be brave. Don't let Gondor fall." and with that the White Rider was gone, galloping off into the black afternoon which seemed to swallow him up.

**24**

The Grey Company, after bidding farewell to the Rohirrim and Dom, rode hard for the next few days towards the Paths of the Dead and Orlando detested every minute of it. He felt claustrophobic and exposed both at the same time. He felt the Rangers were watching him, studying him. The actors had spent time with the men of Rohan of course but those people had no preconceptions about him and Viggo. These men knew Aragorn and Legolas intimately and Orlando got the distinct impression they were puzzled by their uncharacteristic behaviour. It made him nervous.

It was even harder for Viggo who constantly had to field questions and anecdotes from Aragorn's past. The only way he could maintain the pretense was to assume his Aragorn persona, forget he was Viggo, make himself think and feel like the Ranger. It was draining. He'd long since accepted his union with the Ranger - and he didn't feel like the man was stealing his individuality like he had done for so many tormented months - it was just that it took so much energy to remain focussed on the King. He couldn't break out and `be' Viggo even for a few minutes.

His relationship with Orlando suffered. Both of them had sensed the puzzlement and surprise emanating from the rangers at their intimacy but it had become so much a part of their lives. Even before their sexual relationship, they had held hands, teased each other, kissed. All of the Company had - it had been the only way to remain sane in this reality. Their fledgling love made it even harder. Viggo longed for Orli's touch, his sexy laugh, and it was torture to have to adjust his relationship and body language from the playful flirting of before to the businesslike friendship the rangers seemed to expect.

Elrohir gave him Arwen's banner while they were riding towards the Stone of Erech and Viggo made himself look suitably impressed.

"The Lady Arwen, my beloved sister," it seemed there was a slight emphasis on the relationship, "made this for you in secret."

Viggo bowed as he accepted it, aware that Elrohir and his brother were watching him closely. He touched the fine cloth, deep in thought, an ache building in his heart. Arwen, who had given her heart for Aragorn, who had given up her elven immortality for him.

"Aníron Undómiel," he whispered into the quiet of the night.

There was a horse's whinny and he looked up to see Orlando cantering away.

In the dead of night the Grey Company came and halted before the black Stone of Erech. A pall of fear lay on the valley. Men hid shivers and flicked nervous eyes at the inky shadows but no-one hesitated in following Viggo forward. They rode with dignity and valour to their doom, unquestioning in their loyalty to the man they would call King. Elrohir gave Viggo a silver horn. The Dane clenched it tightly: this was his moment. He knew exactly what he had to do but there was just no way he could move. The very idea of dominating the dead was ludicrous. He bit down hard on another gasp of fear and saw his men - Aragorn's men - watching him covertly. He dragged in a lungful of air, spoke through clenched teeth.

"We will rest the horses ere we step on this dark road." So saying he dismounted and strode away from his men. After a few minutes Orlando followed him.

"Viggo?"

"Don't ask. I'm terrified."

"Me too." Orlando captured one of Viggo's hands, held it over his own heart.

"You're an elf."

"A terrified elf. But we have to do this."

"Another one of Ian's choices? Next time I see the old goat, I'm going to kick him up his robed ass. Ah hell!" Viggo broke away from his friend, paced the small dell frantically, time and again running his hands through his dishevelled hair. Finally he threw up his hands.

"I don't know what to do, Orli. I'm not Aragorn, I'm not the King." More frantic hair ruffling. "I mean is there a book I should read on this? `How to Summon the Dead in Three Easy Lessons'? `Cos if there is I should have checked it out of Theoden's library."

"Calm down. I know it's hard but panicking isn't going to help." Orlando wasn't used to the usually contained Viggo acting so wildly. "Try to relax."

Viggo paced a few more circuits but his gestures were becoming more controlled, his breathing returning to normal. He offered the elf a wry smile.

"Sorry about that, elf-boy. Just lost it for a moment."

"Didn't notice."

Viggo sat down, sighed deeply as he let go of his pent-up frustration.

"It's just it's so hard maintaining Aragorn. I just needed to let rip."

"I know. It's so hard. What about the Dead? Do you know what happens in the book?"

"Not really. I never read that far. I imagine it's Aragorn's kingliness which bores them into submission."

"Then there is no problem. You are Aragorn."

"Am I?"

"We've been through this before. I thought you'd accepted your fate?" Orlando kissed the palm of Vig's hand. "I believe you can do this. You healed people as Aragorn, fought as Aragorn, wielded Aragorn's sword. You can do this too."

"I'm scared."

Orlando kissed him, soothed hands over the lines of worry on his face.

"I've been trying to remember that poem about Aragorn that you recited to me in Helm's Deep."

"`All that is gold does not glitter'*. That one?"

"Recite it for me, Vig."

Viggo found his eyes locked with Orlando's as he recited the poem - the elf's eyes were captivating, mesmerising.

"The first time you told it to me, I thought it was about you - Viggo. `From the ashes a fire shall be woken.' That was you after Rauros when you accepted your destiny. `A light from the shadows shall spring.' Be our light among the shadows of the Dead."

Viggo nodded, hypnotised by the musical voice, the shining eyes.

"Believe in yourself. Believe in this quest." Orlando stroked back a loose tendril of hair. "Believe in Elijah and Sean creeping through that dark land. Believe in Ian wielding magic. Believe in yourself."

Orlando slipped down to kneel at Viggo's feet and for an insane moment the Ranger thought the nutty elf was going to propose to him then the elf lifted up the silver horn, held it out to him on the palms of his hands, head bowed.

"`The crownless again shall be king.'"

Viggo returned to his Company, striding confidently forward, his eyes glittering with renewed resolve. He inclined his head to Elladan and Elrohir who, taken aback by his kingly bearing, bowed low. The Dane vaulted into his saddle and held the silver horn to his lips. It seemed there was the sound of answering horns, bleak and eerie sounding in the stillness and Orlando stirred nervously on his horse. Figures morphed from the gloom, drifting like wisps of dark cloud to gather on the hill; some appeared almost opaque, blacker than the night, others transparent and fluid. The air itself seemed thick with the scent of the grave. Viggo eyed the Dead with an uncompromising glare, sat very tall and straight on his horse.

"Oathbreakers, why have you come?"

"To fulfill our oath and thus find peace." Sounded good to him. "The hour is come. For I am Elessar, Isildur's heir."

Halbarad unfurled his king's black standard and no noise was heard that long night as Viggo Mortensen led his army, both living and dead, towards the homeland he had never known.

The Grey Company passed through the Paths in two days. Such was the need for speed that they paused only when it was necessary to rest the horses, gritting their teeth against the sore muscles caused by too many hours in the saddle and against the weariness which was caused as much by the deathless shades that followed them as by the long hours deprived of sleep. Elves were untroubled by the dead but Orlando found he followed his human heritage in this respect. He rode by Viggo's side, his jaw clenched in determination trying to keep his eyes dead - that is directly - ahead. He could sense the ghoulish apparitions all around, some lurked at the edge of his vision while others flitted in and out of focus as though taunting him. Sometimes a disembodied head or a pair of wide intense eyes would float in front of his face and he had to call on every ounce of courage to keep from bolting.

The dead hated. They hated Viggo who controlled them with his iron will, they hated the sun and the moon and they hated human and elf. They lusted for Orlando's blood and, when his mind wandered or he allowed himself to become overwhelmed with fear, he could feel their cold dismembered hands upon his skin. All of the Company suffered - except Viggo. He rode his horse like an avenging angel, never tiring, resolute and implacable. Before his dark gaze the dead submitted. Time and again one of the Rangers would falter allowing the dead to press their advantage and time and again Viggo's will would come to bear, forcing them away from their victim. There was a shuddering gasping cry and Orlando saw a horse bolt, its rider covering his face with his hands, the horror being too much for him. Hope seemed to fail all around and the dead moved in closer to the living, scenting their opportunity. Then Viggo held aloft his sword and with a great cry sent the evil ones back to their waiting shadows. He spurred his horse after the panicked Ranger. The young man had been unhorsed - he was lying on his back, his body rigid, eyes glazed in utter fear. Small welts covered his skin where the deathless ones had sucked and he was as cold as the grave. Viggo bit back on a whimper of panic, felt the dead circling him for any sign of weakness. He pressed his hand over the cold cold chest and willed his healing power into the man. Again he felt his life force being bled from his body into his patient's. The man began to breathe and Viggo patted his shoulder in relief.

The Dead hissed and muttered their defeat.

The nightmare journey continued through the Paths of the Dead but once they had passed that accursed land the evil seemed to ease - though, of course, the Dead still followed them. Now they walked in sunlight and their hearts lifted. They were nearing the sea where, apparently, black ships were waiting to bring them up the mouth of Anduin to the besieged city of Minas Tirith. They rested for a few brief minutes to eat cold beef and cheese. Men cast themselves on the ground, looked up at the sun with grateful expressions. While Viggo moved among his men, encouraging them and reassuring them after their ordeal, Orlando found his eyes drawn to the silver glimmer that was the sea. It fascinated him and, as if under an enchantment, he began walking towards it. He could hear the sound of the waves crashing on the rocks as he approached and the restless wind stirred his hair. It seemed to chase away the shades of night, invigorated him. He raised his voice in song, harmonising with the waves' movements. He remembered happy day trips to Blackpool, walking along the beach (not that he'd do that now with the amount of sewage pumped into the sea) making sand castles and collecting shells. He remembered the tang of salt and the mouth-watering aroma of candy floss, donuts and hot dogs. Above him seagulls wheeled and Orlando watched their aerial dance, captivated by their effortless loop the loops and dives. He heard someone approaching and he smiled - he knew it was Viggo.

"The men are just eating. What are you doing?"

"Isn't it beautiful. So restless and strong."

Viggo flicked a dispassionate glance over the vista.

"It's the sea, Orlando. Come on."

But Orlando was staring out to sea, singing quietly, his slender hand held over his eyes. Then he heard it: the soft poignant wail of the gull. Orlando's heart seemed to clench and he felt an overwhelming yearning to follow the gull, to lose himself in the restless motion of the waves. It seemed to him memories - race memories of his people - stirred in his soul and he saw tall white ships sailing the seas, searching for a land so beautiful tears started in his eyes. Too late he remembered Galadriel's prophesy about Legolas:

`If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore
Thy heart shall then rest in the forest no more'

Orlando shivered. He had heard the gull.

Sailing was not one of Viggo's passions. His men took to their beds, exhausted in body and spirit after the sleep deprived journey through the Paths. But Viggo could not sleep. He felt restless, too wound up to sleep. He had needed to maintain rigorous control over the Dead and found he couldn't just flip off that kind of intensity like it was a switch. He also admitted he didn't dare let go for fear that total exhaustion, both physical and mental, would overtake him. His besieged city awaited him - he could collapse later. He smiled grimly. His city, his men. He had been mired in this reality for months but the only people who had mattered to him were the seven members of the fellowship. He had interacted in a casual manner with the Rohirrim but they had meant nothing to him - not even Theoden and Eomer.

These sombre and noble men of the Dunedain, used to a harsh thankless existence on the edges of civilisation, followed him without question. Aragorn shared a history with these grim-faced men, a history Viggo knew nothing about. They had shared adventures together, walked the wilderness together. The Dane wanted to know them, to feel the bonds of loyalty but he looked on the faces of these men, with their shining faith, and saw only the faces of strangers. He wondered how he would feel when the siege began and he had to order them to their deaths.

The boat - ship whatever - gave another lurch and Viggo hung on to the side desperately. He hated this. He hated the up and down motion, the violent lurching and the tang of sand and salt. Holding on to the rope strung along the side of the boat, Viggo made his unsteady way to the quarters he shared with Orlando. He passed the sons of Elrond who were stood together beneath the main sail thingy, talking together in that sing song way peculiar to elves. Viggo noticed they were not having trouble with the motion of the boat. He bowed his head to them in what was a pathetic attempt at kingliness considering the greenish hue of his face and walked past them. He could feel their eyes following him. Orlando was not in the cabin. Viggo spent a few minutes inventing new curse words then set off to find him. He finally tracked him
down at the pointy end of the boat, lost in thought. His blond hair wafted in the night breeze.

"Hey."

"Hello Vig."

"So do you want to tell me what's with the sudden fascination for boats."

"Ships."

"Right." He personally didn't care what the thing was called as long as he could get off it.

"Elves live forever, you know," Orlando said softly.

"I know."

"I met my doom today."

"Ah come on, Orlando, quit with the mystical elf thing."

"I heard the gull on the shore. Oh Vig, such yearning in my heart. I'm going to burst. How can the elves bare such pain - how could Galadriel endure Lothlorien when her heart cried for Valinor?"

"Orlando." He pulled the elf to face him. "You're not Legolas. You are Orlando Bloom. Come on, you need to get some sleep."

"No, I want to - "

"You can't stay here mooning over the horizon like a lovesick teenager." Viggo kissed his lips, worked at it but there was no response. Orlando might as well have been made from living marble. He grabbed his arm and led him, lurching and swaying back to their cabin. Elladan and Elrohir again regarded him in silent puzzlement and Viggo resisted the urge to wave to them as he went past.

"I am damned either way," Orlando whispered as Viggo closed the door with his foot. The Dane looked closely at the elf. He'd seen that expression once before, after Rauros when the grief over Sean Bean had nearly broken his heart.

"What do you mean?"

"If I stay in this reality, I will walk the ages of eternity without my dearest love. If I return to earth through the Portal, I will yearn forever for Valinor and the doom of my people."

He took the elf's slender hands in his calloused ones, drew him close so he could kiss him gently.

"Come on, Orli. There's enough doom and gloom around - we don't know what will happen when we return home. We might not even remember this place."

Orlando leaned back to look into Viggo's eyes.

"In some ways I think that would be worse." He rested his head against Viggo's shoulder, just stood there in his loose embrace while Viggo murmured quiet reassurances.

Viggo was struggling with his own emotions. Orlando had adroitly hit the nail on the head - when he returned home, the blond would fly straight into the arms of Sean Bean. Viggo wasn't sure he could take that. Their relationship had answered a mutual need initially - Viggo had needed absolution after Rauros and Orlando had needed comfort after Sean. There had been an unspoken rule that it would remain supportive and committed but that it would end immediately they teleported home. It was firmly fixed in the present, they never looked to the future.

Viggo had been content, more than content with that arrangement. This reality demanded whole hearted participation and he had long since put thoughts of Home on a backburner. Until now. Orlando had grown up. He had been a bit of a big kid on set, mischievous and happy with his gossip and pretty-boy charms but rather fickle. He'd had to grow up to survive Middle Earth but, looking back, Viggo realised he was proud of the elf's confidence and wisdom. He'd dealt with each calamity with a maturity which belied his earth years, he'd moved on, learnt his lessons and he'd acted selflessly for the good of others which was a far cry from the old Orlando who had been in for the ride. And the top and bottom of it was he didn't want to lose Orlando. He could hear him singing a new tune which spoke of the restlessness of the sea and a yearning never to be quenched. He stroked his big hands through the fine gold of his hair, thumbed over the tips of his
ears.

"Let me make love to you," he said.

Orlando smiled that beautiful secret smile of his which was so much a part of Orli in this reality.

"I would like that, shipmate. If you are not going to be seasick all over me."

A particularly big swell sent him, on cue, into the wall and he swore violently. Orlando laughed at him. Gathering his tattered dignity, he grabbed hold of the elf and pulled him close, pinning his own body against the wall with the elf's. They kissed deeply, both enjoying the friction of clothes and wall. Orlando ground himself against Viggo, soliciting a low moan.; he captured the sound in his mouth.

"We have to be quiet," he whispered. "The hull is not thick."

"Whatever you say, sailor." Viggo caught his mouth again, biting lightly at his lips and tongue while slipping his hand down the back of Orlando's breeches, pulling him as close as he could. He delved his fingers between his buttocks enjoying the shudders of the sleeker body as he did so. Orlando had found just the right pressure and angle as he drove himself against Viggo. When the friction of his own harsh clothes against his erection and the pounding of Orlando against him had him near the brink, Viggo shoved his finger inside Orlando, timing it perfectly. The elf's rocking increased to a frantic pistoning then he came, triggering Viggo's climax a few seconds later.

"Forgotten about the albatross, lover?" Viggo asked innocently. Orli looked all dazed, his lips swollen.

"Sea gull, landlubber." He began divesting Viggo of his clothes; the Dane let him, he was far too tired and sated to care.

Orlando sucked on his nipple then bit quite hard. Viggo jumped and slammed his head against the wall. He glared furiously and neatly reversed their positions capturing the elf's lighter frame against the wall. He pushed his leg between Orlando's to keep him submissive while he removed the elf's tunic and breeches. He threw them to the floor, tugging off the remainder of his own clothes too. Orlando was singing to him again and he pushed his tongue into his mouth to shut him up. Orlando's eyes were very alight and Viggo felt his heart contract at the beauty before him. He felt himself stir back to full arousal. Orlando noticed too, ran a gentle hand over him. The elf's own erection rose so slender against his toned flat stomach. Viggo slid to his knees and licked at Orli's pelvic bone. He heard Orlando give a soft moan, saw those beautiful eyes flutter closed. He nuzzled across his abdomen, again marvelling at how lithe he was then he slid the tip of the blond's cock into his mouth, swirled his tongue around the slit. Orlando went all boneless at that point and he had to support him with his hands on his hips. He increased the stimulation then, wickedly, removed his mouth. Orlando almost fell over and Viggo grinned some more. He pulled Orlando onto the bed, lay down on top. Their contrasting bodies felt so right together; his bigger bones and hairy chest against Orlando's slender frame and bare pectorals, his meaty cock duelling with the elf's slighter one. He knew what he wanted. To fuck Orlando out of his brain, to feel that lithe form wrapped around his own, his cock buried inside him. He leaned back, kneeling between Orlando's spread legs; he stroked his opening gently.

"We need some lube," he said in his now-do-it voice. Orlando rolled his eyes in mock exasperation then, with a contortion he'd never have managed, he leaned forward to suckle him, covering him with his saliva. Viggo was enjoying that so much he didn't notice when Orlando froze for several seconds. The elf lay back, a slight frown marring his perfect features.

"What?"

"It's just - nothing."

Viggo dismissed the matter as he slid a finger inside the sleek body. Orlando moaned happily and lifted his hips obligingly. He was very easy to fuck, tight without being painful - probably that elven physique of his. Viggo shifted forward but Orlando pulled away abruptly.

"Fuck, Orlando! What the hell?"

"Not like this."

Viggo groaned with frustration; it wasn't he was inconsiderate he just wanted Orlando so much, to have him, make him his. Orlando turned over onto his front, raised himself to his knees. Another groan escaped Viggo at the erotic picture the elf was presenting. Peachy buttocks, so squeezable. Viggo pushed inside gently, enjoying the way Orlando's body responded to the intrusion, the slight tension, the muscle spasms. He spooned his upper torso across the elf's back and licked at the nape of his neck beneath the girly hair. Orlando groaned and pushed back.

"This okay?"

"Yeah." Orli's voice sounded stretched.

Viggo pushed deeper inside, withdrew, pushed again, each time feeling Orlando open to him. It was exquisite. He wove his fingers with Orlando's as he increased the rhythm, Orlando pushing back onto him instinctively. It was wild and passionate and very very good. Viggo let go of the elf's hand and grasped his heavy penis in a harsh squeeze. Orlando raised his head, bucked hard and fast back onto Vig's penetrating cock. The Dane felt every shudder and moan travel
through him. He groaned and climaxed, ramming hard into Orlando at the same time as pistoning his hand over his captive cock. At the very last second of his release, he bit down hard on Orlando's shoulder, marking him as his. The elf let out a trilling scream which Viggo was obliged to mute with his hand as he found his own completion. The Dane slipped out, collapsed in an exhausted heap on the bed. Orlando toppled into his arms and they lay there happily, listening to their heavy breathing. Viggo was just about to fall asleep when there was a knock at the door.

"Who the hell?" he muttered.

He saw Anduril by the side of the bed and gave serious thought to murder. He rubbed himself down grimacing slightly then pulled on his breeches. Another knock, this time louder. He yanked the door practically off its hinges. It was Elladan who was doing a very bad job of trying not to peer into their room. The king had to resist the urge to call him Aladdin.

"Yes." Viggo said icily, standing in such a position that Elrond's son couldn't see.

"Minas Tirith approaches, Elessar," Elladan said, after one scandalised look at the King's state of undress. "It is cloaked in the darkness of the Enemy. There will be no dawn."

 

 

* In case you don't know, this is the poem Orli refers to (Strider chapter of FOTR):

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.

**25**

Not that long ago, Billy and Dom had suffered the same fate as that which Sean and Elijah were currently enduring. They had felt the same despair, the same disgust. They had gagged in the same way at the foul stench of their captors and they had grovelled in the same fashion for mercy.

The difference was Dom and Billy had actively sought capture and that inner belief had kept them going. Moreover, they had been running through an untainted land and they were strong in body. Sean and Elijah had no hope to sustain them. The land they were driven through, once they left Ithilien, was bleak and terrible - and they were hungry and thirsty and weighed down by more than physical weariness. Elijah soon drooped into a semi-conscious haze where the Ring tormented him unceasingly.

Sean came as close to despair as he had ever been. The orcs found a sadistic pleasure in keeping him apart from his lover and anyway his own torment was enough to bow his spirits. Worse than that was the knowledge that the future they had seen was about to come true. They had fought their destiny with what meagre strength they possessed in this evil land but it hadn't been enough. The spectre of Cirith Ungol had haunted them, drawing them inexorably towards it and they were powerless. He was numb with fear and helplessness. He saw again what he would be forced to do and his mind ran from it - but there was nowhere to run, no hiding place, no succour.

They were being driven like cattle through Cirith Ungol. They flinched and cringed away from orcs and shadows alike, their minds cowed by the brooding stone watchers at the gate. It had taken the orcs a long time to get them past those malevolent statues - not even their whips and brands had succeeded in compelling the two Hobbits to pass beneath them. In the end the orcs had had to resort to carrying their uncooperative prisoners who had huddled against their captors, buried their faces against the foul lice-covered orc flesh rather than gaze into those stone visages.

The tower's stone steps were narrow and winding. Sean took the opportunity to lean as close to Elijah as he dared without incurring the orcs' wrath and whispered low: "Lij, the Ring."

For a second jealousy flared in Elijah's blue eyes. Then he nodded.

"I don't think they are after us specifically."

"I know. They don't know about the Ring - these are just low ranking minions. We need to hide it somewhere." Sean broke off as the whip lashed across his bare ankles from below. Elijah caught him, helped him on.

The Ring called to him as a lover, telling him to give it up to the orcs, that he would be spared the torment if he obeyed. It felt so heavy against his neck, scraping his skin, banging against his chest, increasing the pain from the nazgul wound. He held it tightly in his hand, suddenly unwilling to let it go. It was his, his precious. Even the idea of being separated from it in order to keep it safe from other greedy hands struck him as repellant.

"I'll create a diversion - you hide the Ring." Sean's words snapped him to himself and he nodded tersely.

An orc pulled them up the steps leading to the turret room by their hair and threw them to the floor as though they were sacks of meal. The trapdoor flipped shut behind the trio. Sean dove at the orc, pummelled and kicked him, giving Elijah time to hide the Ring in a dark corner amidst the dust and straw. The orc sliced its whip at Sean's face to get him off and the Hobbit windmilled through the air to land with a thud against the wall.

"The Eye's concentrated on the worthless men of Gondor. What happens here need not concern Him," the orc growled.

"You are mine."

Elijah's soul shrivelled at the animalistic fire in its eyes. He remembered the dream with revulsion. Sean was groaning into
consciousness - he nodded at Elijah to show he was all right.

"Strip."

Elijah stood up, said with hollow defiance, "No."

The orc laughed at him, a harsh barking laugh without pity or humanity, a laugh that told him defiance in this place was just something else for it to break. Then it grabbed Sean by the hair and pressed its foul talons into the weal on his cheek. The Hobbit screamed and writhed but the orc held him easily, almost carelessly. It kept its gaze fixed on Elijah.

"Strip."

Elijah stripped. It was one of the hardest things he had ever done, far harder even than the breaking of the fellowship for he felt the brute's eyes watching him, devouring his flesh hungrily. He stood naked before the animal trying not to cover himself. Sean was released and, cowed, he stripped too.

The orc rifled through their packs, throwing their possessions away dismissively. It sniffed at a wafer of lembas, tongued it experimentally then stuffed it into its mouth. It gave a howl of excruciating pain as though the wafer was burning its mouth. It fled down through the trapdoor gibbering and cursing, trying to spit out the waybread. The trapdoor flipped shut behind it.

 

"I can't do this!" Sean fell to his knees and began to sob like a brokenhearted child. Elijah wrapped him in a fierce embrace, thinking of all the times Sean had been the strong one, the one who kept them going. Perhaps it was because he was removed from the Ring but Elijah found his own mind was clear, that, though he was afraid, he was uncowed. He kissed Sean's sweaty hair, crooned endearments but Sean was becoming more agitated.

"You don't understand, I know what they do to you!" Sean pulled away and before Elijah could open his mouth to speak, the Hobbit was pouring out his confession: how the Ring had taunted him with images of him being forced to rape Elijah while the orcs laughed, how he had not told Elijah because he felt too ashamed of himself. Elijah stared at him, his glorious eyes very large and innocent in the poor light. He kissed Sean gently.

"That is not what the Ring told me," he said with some attempt at calm. "In my vision it was an orc who assaulted me. Perhaps neither will happen but, to be honest Sean, if it's going to happen I'd rather it were you - "

"Oh God! What are we going to do?!" Sean buried his head against Elijah's bare shoulder. He was shaking with fear.

"We get through it together."

"How can you be so calm? They are going to make me rape you and then - shit Lij - He's going to come. We're not in a Holiday Inn here, might I remind you. We are in the land of Mordor. It's only a matter of time before the Dark Lord finds his minions have captured two Hobbits and the Eye will return full force. You thought those statues were scary? They're nothing compared to -"

"Stop it!" Elijah hit him hard across his unmarked cheek. The younger actor had never looked so resolute, so confident. Perhaps he thought sadly, Ian was right - perhaps I am strong enough for this. His voice was precise and controlled.

"We will not give up. I will not allow it. We've been through too much. Remember the Desolation of Mordor? Do you? The Dead Marshes? We didn't crawl through those stinking evil places to curl up and die here."

He caught the other Hobbit's clenched hand, kissed each of the knuckles gently.

"And what about the others? They rely on us. Think Sean."

"It's all right for them they aren't here." A lonely tear trickled down Sean's cheek.

"I'll tell you where Sean Bean is - dead. Killed because of this quest, `cos he thought we were worth dying for. Think about Billy, what the Ring said would happen to him. Think about Orli living his life without Sean."

Sean snuffled, his soft brown eyes frightened but hope beginning to swell again.

"If we give up," Elijah continued but his voice was softer now, almost grieving, "if we fail, we will never get out of this fucking reality - never. I will never see Hannah or my mom. You will never see Mac."

"All right," Sean whispered.

Elijah smiled at him, so small and vulnerable looking but with the fire of determination in his eyes. He licked at Sean's lips, breathed into his mouth soft words: "Tell me what we promised."

Sean rested his head against his lover's. "We will go there and back again. Together."

It was when the orc returned that Elijah realised just how futile his determination was and how even the strongest resolve can be broken. The two Hobbits had eaten a few crumbs of the discarded waybread and curled up under their blanket. They did not dare dress in case the orc returned and punished them for their disobedience but they were glad to see the orc had not got as far as rifling through their pockets and that the Phial was still intact. As a precaution, Elijah hid it in another dark corner of the room.

The room was cold and the lantern soon sputtered into darkness. There was a small window but the night was dark, a swallowing of light. There would be no dawn. Sean had examined the trapdoor - their only means of escape. The wood was quite thick and it closed from below.

There was the sound of iron shod boots clumping up the ladder then the trapdoor flipped open. It was their friend the orc and he'd brought a playmate. Not wanting to appear to cower the Hobbits shuffled out of their blanket and stood up. The orcs' eyes seem to light up at the sight of their naked flesh.

"Come here," said the first orc to Sean.

The Hobbit lifted his chin in defiance.

"No," he stated quietly.

The orc sneered and raised its lash. Before it could unfurl it, Elijah stepped in front of his lover.

"Do as it says, Sean. We can't defy them. Let's just get this over with."

With a look of repugnance, Sean walked slowly over to stand before the orc. He meant to keep his eyes open, glare rebellion at it, but he found his eyes shutting tightly. The orc grabbed him, spun him round to face Elijah and the second orc.

"Pretty halflings. Do as we say and it's just me and him," it indicated its colleague, "resist or displease us and I'll send for my whole platoon. Understand?"

When neither of the Hobbits answered, it shook Sean until his teeth jangled.

"I understand! Fuck!"

The first orc circled him like a predator, touching him here, tweaking there. It ran its hands over his chest, squeezed his nipples, scraped its nails up his spine. Sean kept as still as he could, sensing the thing got the most pleasure from his gasps and cringes. It came round to the front and grasped his penis. He froze still. It smiled some more.

His friend was being forced to watch; there was shock and horror on Elijah's face but he made Sean meet his gaze. It gave him the courage to keep still, submissive, as his attacker continued to manipulate him. Those evil hands cunningly teased him and despite every mental resolve he was overcome with shame to see his body responding. Tears trickled down his face. The orc stood behind him, pulled him hard against its gross body while it continued to leisurely stimulate him, pumping his cock with strong confident strokes until he was nearly ready to come.

"Open them," it said and he did as he was told, too cowed by shame and despair to resist. "Pretty halfling."

It suddenly clamped down brutally hard on his aching genitals and he shrieked. His erection shrivelled. He was grabbed and hoisted off the ground and the orc's mouth descended on his, invading him, forcing its big thick tongue inside. He wriggled and squirmed but its hand was still holding his penis and a quick squeeze stilled him. He was thrown to the floor abruptly and the orc turned its hungry eyes on Elijah. He walked over to it obediently and it stroked a seemingly gentle hand over his cheek. He flinched away, hating the tenderness more than the violence.

"Down," it said.

He knew what was coming, so did Sean because he began to plead: "No please, don't! Not that! Take me!" The second orc cuffed him until he shut up.

It took all Elijah's willpower to kneel down but he couldn't lean forward to his hands - so the orc yanked him forward. It settled between his legs and he cried in disgust. There was no resolve here, no courage. Such emotions belonged to some other time - here in this place there was only broken wills and pain. Elijah hung his head in defeat and spread his legs.

But a voice cut through: "Tell me about Beanie, Lij."

The orc rammed into him and he screamed. It hissed, its hot rotten breath close to his face. He screamed again and again, a mindless scream but through it all he could hear Sean's voice.

"Tell me about Beanie!"

"He's dead!" he wailed through his agony. He tasted blood in his mouth and realised he had bitten the inside of his cheek.

"Why?" Sean's voice again, making him remember their earlier conversation. "Why?!"

"Because we were worth dying for!" Elijah got the words out through grunts of pain. The orc was settling into a measured rhythm. The Hobbit raised his head and saw Sean held by the second orc who was pumping his cock in time with its mate's rhythm. But Sean kept talking: "Tell me about Hannah. She's at home - what's she doing Elijah?" He cried out as his orc squeezed him harder. "Tell me!"

"She's watching TV. She loves Friends."

"Can you see her?"

"Yeah." And he could. He could see his little sister's big smile that was only for him. Her dancing eyes. He could see her that time she'd soaked him through with the water pistol and he could her squeal of delight. "She's making breakfast; she's burning the toast." The orc felt beneath his body, started to rub his cock and he fell forward onto his elbows, crying out anew at the humiliation.

"Tell me what Orli's up to on set."

Sean was making him think of all the good times. But it hurt so much. The orc was so deep inside him and it hurt so bad he couldn't breathe. He felt insanity looming and he began crawling away but the orc squeezed him warningly, rammed harder inside his passage and he submitted.

"He's putting the joke soap in my trailer."

"Can you see him? Remember his face?"

"Yeah. I couldn't - NO! Fuck! - understand why my hands were turning black. Fuck, no!" Elijah screamed again as the orc shifted its weight, angled itself higher. He panted hard. The only thing holding him up now was the thing's arm round his waist. It began to move faster, harder as it neared its climax. The agony was white hot.

"When that sound boom hit you on the head! So funny. You just folded to the floor!" He screamed out the words against the agony then he felt the hot spurt inside him and he couldn't do anything, not even scream at that pain. The thing tore from him, grunting and hissing its pleasure.

He blacked out.

 

The orcs had left. Sean had fully expected to be raped after Elijah and felt riven with relief and shame and guilt that he wasn't. It would have been so much easier to face Elijah knowing that he had been assaulted in the same way. It didn't matter that it wasn't directly his fault, that there had been absolutely nothing he could do to prevent his friend's rape - he still felt humiliatingly unworthy to be in the same place with this man who had suffered so much. The Ring had told him he would rape Elijah and for weeks that thought had crucified him - now it seemed like a particularly sick joke of the Ring's. He wouldn't have enjoyed it of course but surely his penetration would have been preferable to the tearing possession
of the orc.

He thought back through their journey in this benighted land and the doom which always seemed to be just round the corner drawing them to this malevolent tower. Perhaps it had been predestined that they would suffer here but Sean could not help but feel guilty: he should have been more careful in Ithilien, he should have known it was orcs not Faramir, he should have ... He should have suffered in Elijah's place.

He thought about Gollum then, really thought about him rather than trot forward the usual excuses and shove the issue away. He saw himself in the golden light of Lothlorien and he felt Gollum's slimy skin under his hands as he killed it. That moment had replayed through his mind's eye so often that Sean knew it frame by frame - but this time his focus was drawn to his motivations. He felt the emotions of the moment - disgust at such a loathsome creature touching his lover, panic at its unnatural strength and his own weakness and determination that he would not allow it to kill Elijah.

And in this land where dark called to dark another emotion was made manifest - triumph.

Every action has an equal and opposite reaction, the old scientific formula went - Newton's first Law, was it? - and it applied as much to consequences of moral decisions as to dry experiments in some lab. He understood now, in this dark tower what he had not allowed himself to understand in the light - Gollum's significance. It had been a test by Fate or the Valar or whoever else, one which Sean had failed.

He had failed not because he killed Gollum - he had had no choice - but because he did it without pity. He remembered how time had seemed to slow in that forest glade, how he had felt all the world was waiting with baited breath for his decision. And he had wrapped his hands round Gollum's neck and he had killed it as much because the thing appalled his sense of nature as because it was strangling his friend. He had enjoyed killing it, had rejoiced in twisting its skinny neck with his bare hands because it was gross and unlovely. He had not thought about the wretched years of skulking and pain beyond enduring that the poor creature had been subjected to - all he'd thought about was how repulsive the creature was, a maggot to be crushed under his heel.

Sean looked out at the dark enveloping him and he knew very soon payment would be demanded for his failure.

Elijah returned to consciousness unwillingly. Sean was holding him closely and he snuggled against him. His friend wanted to examine him, see how seriously he was hurt but he couldn't take that. Sean looked into his eyes and gave in.

Morning had come but there was no light, no sun only a heavy brooding darkness: the sunless day. Both Hobbits could sense the change in the atmosphere - it was like an electrical storm building and building.

Eventually, reluctantly, Elijah stirred, salvaging what he could even at the gates of despair. He hurt like hell inside like someone had stuffed sandpaper up his ass or something. He hobbled over to their abandoned clothes, began to dress: he was freezing and he wasn't going to let the orcs score cheap points by being naked.

"We have to find a way to escape," he said. His throat hurt - probably from all the screaming.

"How?" Elijah bristled.

"You read the fucking book!" He let the anger dissipate, he really didn't have the energy for it. "Let's think. Can we overpower the orcs?"

Before Sean could reply, Elijah fell abruptly to his knees. The pall of doom had intensified, a quashing pressure in his mind which obliterated everything.

The Eye had found him.

He thought he had sounded the depths of despair before but the rape had been a picnic in Hobbiton compared to this.

"No. You shall not claim me!" he screamed but all vows were as nothing before the Dark Lord. The Eye regarded him, no hatred in the look, only a cold merciless will and he felt his mind shockingly peeled like a fruit before that malevolent Lidless orb.

He had read somewhere that you send your mind away when you're tortured to another place far from pain and Elijah clung to the memory of his loved ones desperately. He tried to summon up a mental image of his mom, his brother and sister but all he saw was the flaming Eye, wanting him, devouring him. There was nowhere to go, no sanctuary of respite - it followed him everywhere, broke through every barrier he constructed. It knew him intimately.

The Dark Lord let it be known that the terrors they had endured were but a shelf on the long way down to the bottomless pit. He could see himself a small white light in the darkness growing weaker and weaker. The bottom was a long way off - but he would be taken there. Inexorably, slowly.

"Give me the Ring," said the Eye and his light wavered even more.

Images played through his mind of what the future held for him if he continued to resist. The Dark Lord would claim the Ring - it was inevitable - and Elijah would become his plaything to break time and again on the anvil of his ruthless eternal will. Each day Elijah would suffer the torment only Sauron could inflict and each night he would die. And each morning he would be brought back to life to suffer torment again - there were no end to the ways he would die.

"No!" Elijah clung onto his memories, summoned up Sean's dear face, saw it fade away before him. No light, no sanctuary, nothing but the dark.

He held out the Ring to Sauron.

 

A voice, a rich resonant voice, cut through the appalling dark and just for a second, Elijah's light flared like a light in the void.

"Courage, Lij!"

It was Ian. Elijah clung to that voice even as he felt the evil one capture the vision, crush it like it had crushed everything else in him.

"Think about Sean."

So little light but for Ian he summoned up Sean's face and this time the darkness retreated. He remembered Sean's gentleness as they made love, the softness revealed in his eyes as he climaxed. The light flared a little brighter and Ian's voice filtered through like a summer's breeze.

"The Phial. Use it."

The Eye snapped away suddenly and Elijah could sense it fixing itself on Ian. But Elijah's light remained. The Hobbit felt blindly for Sean's flesh and blood hand, clutched it wildly, felt the other Hobbit squeeze back. His face contorted with the effort, Elijah crawled to the corner and picked up the Phial. His vision seemed to return slightly and through a blur he saw Sean's hands wrap tightly around the phial too.

The Eye returned in full might, promised damnation for eternity, but he defied it. A light began to glow in that dark room, a beautiful shining light that spoke of Valinor. The two Hobbits held aloft the phial and Saruron retreated before it. He was not defeated - not by any means - but the phial gave Elijah the strength to deny him.

"We have to escape. Now. No time." Each word was a torture to get out.

Sean nodded, his own face set with determination as though whatever their fate he would face it now without flinching - there was no fear left in him. The Hobbit pattered over to the trapdoor, the only escape and tried to push down on it. It didn't budge an inch. He looked round the bare room for some kind of lever but there was nothing.

Elijah was becoming agitated as his willpower failed. "Please, Seanie NOW!"

Responding to that plea in the only way he could, Sean jumped up and down on the trapdoor, crashing his full Hobbit weight against it. Elijah joined him and the two pounded frantically all the while aware of the sands of time trickling away.

Then the trapdoor shattered in dramatic fashion and the two Hobbits went flying through the hole to land unceremoniously in the room below. How they did not kill themselves neither knew but they stood up, dusted themselves off and retreated down the winding stair.

They had escaped Cirith Ungol.

**26**

It should have been a triumphant entrance, the legendary Return of the King, but there was little to celebrate in the besieged city where men lay dying in the alleys while their comrades laboured without hope to stem the black tide issuing from Mordor - the lack of sun seemed to increase the air of defeat. Viggo had engaged the enemy before the Gates, meeting the Rohirrim now led by a bereaved Eomer. The battle had lasted long weary hours and there was no end to the orcs who seemed to breed in the darkness their lord had commanded.

Orlando, with the sons of Elrond, mounted a small rise and sent arrow upon arrow into the dark mass of the Enemy. When he had no arrows left, he leapt into the thick of it, his twin blades slicing and arcing through the air. Viggo had Halbarad unfurl his standard and stood before it while Anduril flamed with the light of Westernesse.

They lost many men that cold day and Viggo found he did care. The amount of human life wasted was abhorrent - but worse than that was the sport the orcs found in despoiling the dead and dying. Eventually the orcs were defeated and Viggo led his men to the city, too exhausted and numb to feel anything, even relief. Orlando came to his side and uncaring of the eyes watching them, they walked hand in hand to the Gates of his City.

A small forlorn figure stood there beneath a flaming torch and Viggo and Orlando ran forward to embrace Billy. The Hobbit kissed them both but it was such a different greeting from that at Isengard for the tiny face was pinched and strained with a great grief. Once the army had been dispersed, Billy led his two companions into the Steward's Council Chamber.

"Where's Ian?" Viggo asked gently.

"Denethor is dead so is Faramir. They burned to death this morning - we were too late to stop them," Billy said in an unemotional voice.

Viggo closed his eyes. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"Denethor used the palantir. It broke his mind."

Orlando stroked back Billy's curly hair, asked again: "Where is Ian?"

Billy's face crumpled then he seemed to collect himself and said, "He has gone to Mordor."

There was astounded silence then Viggo was pacing the floor.

"Has he taken leave of his senses?"

"He blames himself for Denethor. You see, our plans have been revealed to the Dark Lord." In the same unemotional voice he told them the full story. Viggo stared into the fire lost in thought. It would be so easy to give in now, to run away. Somewhere out there the Portal awaited them - why could they not just cut their losses now, activate the Portal and pull Sean and Lij from their harrowing experience back to home?

He felt Orli's hand on his arm and he squeezed the elf's slender hand tightly. When he spoke it was with resolve.

"We can't do anything for Sean and Elijah except keep the Enemy off their backs. We can't help Ian either. The army marches at dawn."

Billy's eyes met his and he knew there was more.

"Dom is in the hospital. He's in a coma."

 

The small Hobbit led them through the silent unnaturally dark streets of the city. Despite it only being afternoon, the only other people out and about were stretcher bearers and men with carts carrying the dead to the common pits. Billy held his torch high to illuminate the House of Healing and the three companions entered.

"I found him earlier today. By the body of ... a Nazgul." Billy preferred to forget that moment as quickly as possible. The beast and its fell rider had both been dead but a brooding evil still hung over them.

"What about Eowyn?" Viggo asked remembering the woman was supposed to be with Dom.

Billy shook his head. "She was dead. The Nazgul fell on top of her, suffocated her, I think. I hope." He'd seen the look on her dead face; he prayed he never saw anything like it again.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be, Viggo raged angrily. Ian throwing his life away, Sean and Lij betrayed despite everything he and Billy had done after Isengard, Dom in a coma - it wasn't fair. He stumbled in weariness and Orlando caught him, supported him the rest of the way.

They entered the small room where their friend lay. Candles illuminated the bed and a cheerful blaze crackled in the hearth but they all felt the cold of the grave lying over the room. Orlando shivered, his elven senses cringing. Viggo sat on the bed and examined Dom's face. The Hobbit's features were twisted in a mask of horror and he was stone cold. The Dane could barely see his chest rising. Billy clambered next to him, held his friend's hand. And he was so weary. He called for athelas, enduring the old woman's ravings about kingsfoil with as much patience as he could, and crumbled the withered leaves in warm water. The healing vapour didn't seem to do much to lift his spirits but some of the pall of death lifted and Dom's breathing grew stronger. Viggo bathed the Hobbit's forehead then rested his hand over his temples. He could see his hand actually shaking from fatigue.

He couldn't think.

He ran the hand through his hair - thinking absently how much it needed washing - and tried to pull his wits together. Billy was watching him, his heart in his eyes. Then Orlando was kneeling next to him, taking his free hand in his cool one.

"You can do this. I'm here."

The words seemed to re-kindle the fire. He caressed Dom's forehead and poured forth all his willpower. The now familiar draining sensation seemed much stronger as though he was being completely emptied and he had to wrench his hand away. He was gasping for breath, dazed with exhaustion but he saw the colour return to Dom's cheeks, saw the chest rise and fall strongly. His features relaxed into an _expression of peace.But the Hobbit remained unconscious. Viggo stroked away a loose tendril of hair, reached for the mind but found only darkness.

"His body is healed but his mind has withdrawn from the horror of the Nazgul. I can't reach him."

"You're the fucking King! You heal him in the book!"

"I know, Billy - I didn't say he was lost to us. I said I couldn't reach him." Viggo caught Billy's small hand, placed it lightly over Dom's heart. "I think that is your responsibility."

"Me!?"

Viggo offered a tired smile and wove to his feet. The world did a few somersaults then steadied.

"Right. Bathe him with the athelas, it'll help. Come on, Orli, find me somewhere to collapse."

 

Orlando Bloom was pacing which really wasn't helping Viggo's headache and all-over ache.

"Quit that, will you?" he grated after a few moments of valiant patience.

"I cannot! Our friends are suffering! I sense it!"

He didn't want to know. He hugged his body tightly, asked reluctantly. "What do you sense?"

"They are still in Cirith Ungol. The Eye is removed from Gondor - it is trained on them." He stared out of the window to where the fiery mountain could be seen on the horizon. Orlando did not have the gift of foresight like Ian but he could sense the Eye's exultation and triumph.

Noone could contend with the will of Sauron in his own land. The Eye would break Elijah into a thousand pieces and wrest the Ring from him.

The quest had failed and all Viggo could hope was that their dear friends would die quickly. He wiped at tears he didn't realise he was shedding, stared at the moisture as though it were something strange to him. He saw Orli looking at him and he pulled him close, hid his face in the elf's neck. But Orlando smoothed back his hair.

"We cannot give up, Vig. It may be that the quest will fail but I will not abandon our friends so easily. We must hope. Hope that Ian can intervene, hope that they can escape."

"The army marches tomorrow. If the Hobbits escape and can continue the quest, we will draw the enemy's hosts from their path. If they are fallen, when Sauron comes in might with the One Ring on his finger, we will be before the Black Gate to meet him."

Orlando kissed his eyelid gently. "You must command that army, my dear. And I leave now to go to Ian."

Oh no, not Orlando too!

"You can't! I need you here!"

"I hold no authority and you do not need me to bolster yours."

Orlando squeezed his fingers. "Don't you see? I can help Ian."

"How? You're not a wizard - "

"I can give him moral support, keep him safe until he has done that which he must do. My mind is made up, Viggo."

They locked gazes - it was the Dane who looked away first.

"Very well. Do what you must. Tell Ian the army marches at dawn."

"I will. Pray for us."

Pray for you? thought Viggo. He would pray for the stupid old wizard who dared to challenge the Dark Lord and he'd pray for two suffering Hobbits that somehow - somehow - they would do what no soul had ever
managed to do - resist the Great Eye.

 

I think this is your responsibility, Viggo had said but it was all right for him. He was a King, he'd raised the Dead (literally). Billy was a frightened little Hobbit who loved the comatose figure lying so ashen in the middle of the ridiculously large bed. A wave of resentment surged - he was sick and tired of everything in this bloody world being the wrong size for him. Having to clamber into chairs, hold his knife and fork funny, crick his neck to look at people.

Dom looked almost angelic in the bed. Billy snorted at that notion; saying Dominic was angelic was about as incongruous as saying the Balrog supported charity. He looked `gentled' as though the worry had been soothed from him. It had been a long time since Billy had seen his best friend cheerful and full of mischief.

There was so much despair around, he could sense it in the very stones of the city, feel it in Viggo's heavy footsteps and the unelven wistfulness in Orli's face. He'd lost Sean Bean already and it looked like fate had decreed that he would lose more. The grief was almost too much to bear and it hurt so much to keep believing, to keep summoning up the hope. He'd read somewhere that hope was the denial of reality and he was beginning to believe it: each time his hopes got smashed, he died a little inside.

He stared round the dark room - dark in the middle of the afternoon - illuminated only by soft candle light and the fire. He didn't need to look outside to know the only light out there came from a volcano spouting ash.

There was nothing he could do for Elijah and Sean or Ian. They were as good as dead. He looked down at the Hobbit lying so unnaturally still on the bed - there was something he could do for Dom. He clambered onto the bed and took Dom's no longer icy hand in his. He remembered their last conversation with sorrow. Once upon a time, he would have walked away from Dom lying here, would have said he deserved what he got. He'd have held the bitterness and hurt close to himself and would have enjoyed Dom's suffering as a just reward for his making Billy suffer. Things had changed. There was enough hurt in the world, Billy didn't need to go borrow more.

He stroked Dom's face and wondered again what the hell he was supposed to do here. He wrung out the cloth steeped in athelas water and gently bathed his friend's forehead, watching closely for the miracle. Nothing happened. Bloody athelas.

He knew what he had to do - talk - but he couldn't think of anything to say to the Hobbit. On set it had been easy and they'd spent nearly every evening in easy meaningless conversation: Manchester United played like a bunch of girls' blouses, the curry last night was crap, an in-depth discussion on just how many T shirts Peter Jackson owned. In this reality there was nothing to say that wasn't dark and tainted: Do you remember the Balrog? Weren't those orcs horrid?

The problem was he still loved Dom. The complexity of emotions within his heart would keep a soap opera well supplied for months. It was a difficult admission but his earlier anger at Dom had been as much directed at himself as at the other Hobbit. He had used Dom as a crutch during those terrible weeks, had rejoiced in their `arrangement' (Dom's word) because it made him feel cherished even if that was a facade. There was hurt and rejection in his heart too but under all that - there was still love. Not the lovesick mooning of earlier but a mature love that reached through the depths of despair.

Dom had rejected him - make no bones about it - but love conquered all. Billy remembered how Dom had saved his life, how he had held him after the palantir. Perhaps he was mistaken but Billy had given that moment a hell of a lot of thought and that embrace had not felt like that of one friend to another: it had felt like love.

"Hey Dom," he said surprising himself in the stillness of the room how loud his voice sounded. "Viggo and Orli are here. Everything's fine." He felt his voice quiver and had to swallow hard at just how that was so not true. "But we need you to come back, man. We need you."

He dabbed the cloth over his friend's forehead some more, then just for a change, bathed his hands and the v of his neck. Billy tried not to look at that tantalising glimpse of flesh.

"The nazgul is dead, you killed it. Come back to us. We need you." This wasn't working and it hurt so much to be so vulnerable. "I need you."

Anger stirred. He would lose Lij and Sean and Ian today. He wasn't going to lose Dom too. "Did you hear me, you English git? I need you. You can't keep running Dommie boy, not even inside your head. I'm not going to leave you and I'm not falling for all that balls about just being best mates."

Still no response. Billy tore the covers away, wrestled with the Hobbit until he could get the white nightshirt (too big naturally) off his uncooperative form. God, but he was beautiful, finely muscled, light hair on his chest. The Scot remembered how that hair had felt against his skin. Unable to stop himself he rubbed his cheek there, heard the soft rhythmic beat of his friend's heart. He touched Dom's nipple gently with his finger, licked it ever so gently.

"C'mon Dommie, there's nothing to fear in love. Come back to me." He lightly kissed his throat and collarbone. "I love you."

Nothing. Almost in tears, Billy rested his head against Dom's, wanting him so very much. He kissed his lips, his cheeks, his forehead, his lips again, all the while keeping up a litany of endearments.Dom stirred.

"That's it! He almost crowed. "Come back to me. You can do it, Dommie." He kissed him urgently now. "I love you. Do you hear me? I love you."

Dom opened his eyes. Billy felt himself flush but he held the other's gaze as he said very distinctly: "I love you."

 

Dom lay in Billy's arms and they were enjoying the best food the besieged city could muster - which wasn't saying much. Dom wanted pizza, he'd kill for pizza. He felt nice and snug in Billy's embrace like he belonged and he felt warm, the coldness of the grave from his contact with the nazgul gradually seeping away.

Billy had filled him in on the continuing saga of How Fate Was Fucking up Their Lives - the Hobbit hadn't wanted to, of course, but Dom could make him to do anything and anyway it wasn't hard to guess from the hopeless expressions of both Billy and Viggo. Orlando had left a while ago to "find Ian," Viggo had said by which he meant bring the broken body back for proper burial.

"So I've been thinking," Dom said.

"We're in enough trouble without that," Billy muttered.

"When I was riding with the Rohirrim - Eowyn's really dead, right?"

"Sorry."

God have mercy on her, Dom - who was not religious - prayed. He continued his original thought: "When I was riding I couldn't get you out of my mind. Your hands, your kisses."

Billy regarded him calmly; the Hobbit wasn't giving anything away.

"I kinda figure I made a mistake at Isengard - you know, when I rejected you."

Billy breathed deeply and it took a long time for him to answer. He could feel the bitterness and the rejection but there was some light in this bloody place.

"Ian talked to me." He smiled wryly. "Actually he lectured me. Doesn't matter much what he said now but
it made sense - I think we were both wrong."

It took a while for Dom to work through that one.

"So what happens now?" Billy said in a carefully neutral tone.

"Shit. I don't know. We'll probably be dead tomorrow." It wasn't a joke, not at all.

"Optimist. So what happens now?"

"We go slow." Dom reached out to curl his hand round Billy's to take the sting from his words. "I know it's hard but there's so much shit about, Billy, that I don't know much of anything right now - least of all if I love you."

"I suppose you are right." Billy looked away. Dom poked him.

"I can't lie to you now anymore than I could before. But we're together, we're alive." Considering how their world was merrily falling apart around their pointy ears, it had to be enough.

 

Ian galloped out of Gondor on the wings of fear. So fast did Shadowfax go that Ian couldn't see the ground below them but he encouraged him on, urged him to go faster and the beast reached deep inside himself and stretched into an even faster pace. Ian ignored everything before him. He didn't see the siege of Gondor or Viggo's arrival. All he saw was an image of two tormented Hobbits cowed in the darkest of places.

His heart was hammering hard and despite the fact that nothing on this earth had ever matched the speed of Shadowfax, Ian couldn't help but feel they would arrive too late to help.

An hour or so into their journey Ian gave a cry of utmost despair: It was as he had feared, the Eye had snapped to Cirith Ungol - it had found Elijah.

Ian could sense the waves of malice emanating from the Dark Lord, could sense too the desperate battle within Elijah. He cringed as he sensed what the evil one was doing to his dear friend. He gathered his magic but even as he did so he knew he was too far - but he tried anyway. He tried with all his strength and might but still felt the bitterness of defeat.

The leagues raced by. Mordor brooded before them but Shadowfax did not alter his pace in this dark land. The pain in his head intensified as he was forced to feel each layer of Elijah's control being peeled away. The Eye was enjoying its victory, taking its time to break its victim slowly, carefully. If the Dark Lord had wanted to, he could have broken Elijah utterly in the space of a heartbeat - Ian didn't know what was worse having his friend endure the stretched out torture in the forlorn hope that Ian's desperate gamble would work or having his friend capitulate now, sparing him (oh Elbereth, please) some of the agony.They had arrived. Ian climbed down from Shadowfax, patted the stallion gently. This was suicide he told himself and he had to clutch hold of Shadowfax suddenly in fear. He was in Sauron's land - if the Dark Lord took his bait, Ian would be helpless before his onslaught.

He sent out his thoughts, projected again comfort and love to his tormented friend. He nearly gave in, the despair wrenching a sob from his throat as Saruman's mind rape had never been able to do. Then, so far off, so cowed, he felt Elijah's mind. A small frail light fast diminishing in the darkness only Sauron could weave. Ian's strength was fast dissipating, he only had a few seconds.

"Courage Lij."

He fell to his knees with the effort but he had felt Elijah receive the message, felt the oh so tiny light glimmer anew. But how could he hope to maintain that light? Ian could sense the Hobbit's strength was at an end.

"Think about Sean!" he commanded and again the light flared. He could sense Sauron's gloating pleasure in his victim's sudden rebellion for defiance made the game all the more enjoyable, made the victory all the sweeter.

"The Phial. Use it." The light intensified and Ian knew his own battle was upon him. The knight held his staff in both hands, felt how the carved wood slipped because of the sweat. It came down to choices again. He'd made a choice in Khazad Dum, he would make his choice now: To defy Sauron, force the Dark Lord to tear his malice from Elijah and confront him, Maiar and wizard.

His soul shrivelled at the idea and for a moment he couldn't do it. The Balrog had been a terrible experience for all his bravado and belief in the predestination of his character. He remembered the lick of flames and the mindless terror as he felt - very clearly - his body shattering. In that iota of a second between life and death, there had been pain unimaginable. He didn't think he could do it again.

He saw Sean Bean dying, the arrows slamming into his body. He saw Billy gagging on the orc's penis. He saw Orlando grieving for his lost love. He saw Sean humiliated and abused in that dark tower. And he saw Elijah's innocent eyes shatter as the orc plunged into him.He sent out the challenge and his voice was a trumpet call, defiant and majestic. Before the city of Gondor, the orcs howled and clashed their armour as they heard it and the Ringwraiths screamed their reply. In the fortress of Barad Dur which no man had ever penetrated, Sauron heard the challenge reverberate through all the dark chambers of his tower. And he trembled with fear.

Had he sent out his thoughts to stop Elijah's heart at that moment or slammed the full force of his will against the Hobbit, he would have triumphed - but his fear made him rash. He tore his mind instantly from the worthless creature he had been leisurely breaking and sent it to crush the sanity from an old bent wizard.

It took only a moment for the Dark Lord to realise his mistake - only a moment for him to read the knowledge in the gibbering mind of the old man. The wizard was a decoy, he read it plainly for there was no way the wizard had been able to keep the matter secret. Sauron returned his blazing Eye to the Hobbit, meaning to crush him utterly. A shriek, an unholy scream echoed through Barad Dur - Sauron could not reach out to Elijah, something was stopping him:Elijah Wood had picked up Galadriel's Phial.

And so Sauron turned his anger and vengeance back on the wizard who had dared to decoy him. Ian felt Sauron's mind envelope his. He was immortal and a wizard but he was in the Dark Lord's land where the Enemy's will had dominion. He would die, no doubt about it but death lasted only a few seconds. Dying could take longer, much longer, as Ian discovered. The pain was like white hot fireworks igniting in his mind.

Dimly he heard Shadowfax's scream of hate and defiance then someone was shouting at him through the agony in his mind.Ian opened his eyes and saw Orlando Bloom.

"Ian, hold on!"

His mind crumbled and he saw flames.

**27**

Orlando swore colourfully as Ian toppled to the ground. Night was all around him and Orlando was shaking like a leaf. He somehow managed to drag Ian onto Shadowfax's back and commanded the stallion to bear his master away from that black land. Leaping gracefully into Arod's saddle, the elf followed as quickly as he could. He could see Ian's white robes, the actor jiggling about on the great horse's back but Shadowfax would not allow him to fall. Already the beast was racing from Orli's view, carrying the broken wizard far from the land of Mordor and the great Eye's dominion.

He just hoped Ian was alive.

 

Ian came round a short time after their leaving the Land of Shadow. Orlando managed to convince Shadowfax to stop while he helped the wizard down. His face and even his beard were drenched with sweat and he leaned so heavily against the lighter frame of the elf that Orlando almost thought he'd have them both over. He plonked them down and offered Ian his water bottle, watched him take gulp after gulp. Ian closed his eyes for a second in relief then he handed the bottle back.

His eyes were very blue and twinkly and he suddenly grabbed Orlando and kissed him hard. His laughter boomed out into the stillness to find Orli's answering giggle.

"Ah Orlando dear boy. Thank you."

"I take it it worked?"

"It did. The strength in that young Hobbit - no, that young man for it had little to do with his physical shape - amazes and humbles me. He was able to defy the Eye and use the Phial. They are escaping."

"File? Oh, the Lightbulb." Orlando grinned again. "Viggo's going to have you skinned alive, you know, for running off like that."

Ian managed to look sheepish.

"Perhaps I could turn him into a toad before he can start shouting." He levered himself to his feet, patted Shadowfax gently, speaking elvish to the horse. "We have diverted the Eye once again. It is vital we push home our advantage."

Orlando helped him mount then swung lightly into his own saddle. "I know. Vig says the army marches at dawn."

"Excellent." Ian passed a tired hand through his hair. "Bless my beard but I could do with a smoke."

Orli's musical laughter filled the darkness. "Bless my beard? We really need to get you back home, Ian!"

 

The commanders and other bigwigs held a hasty (Treebeard would have been shocked) council. Billy felt it was his duty to attend but it was a real wrench to leave Dom recuperating in the Houses of Healing. Viggo had returned to his capital but by unanimous decree, Ian led the armies. Billy could see the lines of stress and weariness in the old man's face for Ian had refused to take any rest upon his return from Mordor.

It wasn't a very long meeting - which must have been a first in the history of council meetings - since there wasn't much to say: They'd depart at dawn, in just a few hours time, and challenge the Enemy at his own Gate, hopefully drawing his forces away from Elijah and Sean.

Billy didn't need Ian's foresight to know theirs was a forlorn hope, he could see it in the grieving look in Ian's eyes, in the falling stars in the eyes of the sons of Elrond and in the wistfulness in Viggo's - Viggo who was sending his adopted people to their deaths.

"Pippin?"

"Oh yes that's me!" He turned to Viggo, summoned up a smile. The ranger smiled at him, knelt so they were at eye level. "I need you to stay with Dom."

"Nice try, Strider," he said, and saw Elrohir's eyes widen at the familiarity, "I may not be much of a soldier but I would do what I can to represent my country."

"The Shire," Elrohir said pompously, "is well represented by the two Hobbits walking to their doom in Mordor."

"I mean Scotland," Billy riposted and gave them all his best impish grin.

 

Viggo, mounted on Hasufel, rode at the front of the army with Ian. Behind them, thousands of men marched; the Dane had never seen so many people in one place and the noise from their collective feet was deafening. He could feel Hasufel trembling under him, knew it was from excitement not fear - it didn't help. He was leading thousands of men to their deaths, thousands. He remembered watching them film the Last Alliance scene where the elves and men had marched in beautifully straight lines towards their foe, golden helmets gleaming as brightly as the heroic determination in their eyes. But this wasn't a nice safe sound stage and his men did not march in beautifully straight lines and there was nothing heroic in what they were doing. It was dirty and frightening and primitive.

It had taken them hours to arrive at the Black Gate and Viggo had fidgeted and worried every minute. They were going so slowly. They had to strike quickly, draw the Enemy away from the Hobbits as soon as possible. Ian said his friends had escaped but they still had an arduous slog to Mount Doom before them - Viggo intended to make it as easy as possible. That idea made him feel even more guilty; he was going to throw thousands of lives away today for the sake of two Hobbits.

They had arrived half an hour ago and, somewhat annoyingly the Black Gate remained closed. Viggo was just giving thought to knocking it down (with what he didn't know) when an eerie silence seemed to descend followed by a massive creaking groaning sound. The Black Gate opened.

 

From the Gate poured millions of orcs, looking like ants streaming over a corpse. Viggo gave the signal to engage and had Halbarad unfurl his standard. Elven long bows hummed and a rush of black arrows cut apart the foremost orcs. The rest barely slowed, scrambling quickly over the fallen. Archers shot again and again and still they came. Fifty yards only separated the two armies. Now the elven archers fell back and the infantry took their place, drawing their swords and lances.

Viggo fought an overwhelming sense of doom. Helm's Deep had been fought against seemingly insurmountable odds but the Rohirrim had been able to retire to safety and there had been the hope of the book - that Ian would bring the cavalry in time. In addition, they were fighting Saruman's orcs on a green and growing land beneath a blue sky. Here, they were fighting the twisted orcs of Sauron who were bred with all the malice and hatred of their lord and they were fighting at the very Gate of Mordor where the ground was sickened and even the sky seemed grey and dull. The pressure of the Great Eye only added to the air of defeat.

Viggo saw evil things on that battle field. Orcs were the evil spawn of Sauron, without humanity. They took pleasure in the hunt, used their swords to maim and incapacitate as much as kill. Tens of thousands died against the iron will of the valiant men of Gondor but still they came. Where one fell, three more appeared to take its place.

More chilling, among the orcs in little pockets were bent and twisted creatures, bred by Sauron, which didn't even have names. These demons were of all shapes and sizes, bent and twisted by the blackness that had created them. There were teeth and claws and razor sharp spines, hair and scales and bristled fur; they slouched and crawled and flew. And they seized men in their talons or claws and devoured them or sucked their blood. Others hovered over the beleaguered men, occasionally darting down to grasp their quarry and take it to a ledge where the screams could be heard for long minutes as they took their time over their feast. And still the orcs came.

 

Orlando Bloom had joined the Dunedain, Elrond's sons and a group of elven archers upon a small cliff. He had sent arrow after weary arrow into the dark roiling mass of orcs, fighting the conviction that their courage and valour was nothing compared to the seething mass of the enemy. Elrohir was fighting next to him which Orlando found somewhat distracting since the elf's eyes seemed far too knowing of his relationship with Vig. It didn't help that he was fighting his own demons where Viggo was concerned. He remembered the night they'd made love on the ship: It had felt highly erotic but he remembered the momentary flash of memory when he'd leaned over to suck Vig's cock - the Dane had said "we need some lube" or something like that and Orli had remembered how Sean had said something similar in Lothlorien. He should have stopped Viggo there and then but he hadn't - all he'd done was change their position so that they weren't echoing his and Sean's.

Orlando dodged suddenly as one of the winged demons flew directly at him; he had a blurred glimpse of crablike talons, bristles of off-green fur and teeth that dripped blood. On automatic, he smoothly withdrew his knives and flicked at the thing's loathsome yellow eye.

The eye blinked and Orlando saw the depths of malice in that uncaring stare. Then almost casually it grabbed Elrohir by the shoulders and carried him away.

There was a second of stunned inactivity when Orlando could see everything clearly like it was on freeze frame but he couldn't act - then he was leaping into the air, grabbing hold of the creature's spiked tail. He swore violently but kept his grip, thinking rather wryly how it must look from below, the Prince of Mirkwood dangling like a Barbie doll.

"Elrohir! Can you hear me?" He didn't think the elf was dead, better not be after all the trouble he was going to.

The demon landed on a rocky outcrop and immediately rounded on Orlando with an agility which belied its bulk. The stench was like that of a particularly unpleasant sewer. Orlando dodged the wiry neck but wasn't quick enough to miss the tail which knocked him off balance. It was only due to his innate elven balance that he kept from falling off the cliff.

The creature, apparently considering Orlando a worthless irritant on a par with a mosquito, had turned its attention to Elrohir. The elven prince was lying prone between its talons. He was conscious, judging by the look of horror in his eyes, but unable to move. The creature pecked at him and he screamed in agony as it ripped flesh from his thigh. Orlando flew at the thing and sank both his daggers into its neck, driving them home with a large boulder. The thing hissed for a second then it toppled off the cliff, Elrohir still impaled on its talon. There was nothing Orlando could do and he fully expected to see the elf lying crushed beneath the foul body - but Elrohir summoned up all his strength and somehow managed to pull himself free at the last second. Orlando threw his arms round him, dragged him away from the cliff edge to safety.

The elf was so pale his skin was almost silver. He had a large ravaged wound across his thigh and various smaller cuts. He was gasping for breath. Orlando pulled his belt off and wrapped it round his upper thigh as a tourniquet, trying to ignore the elf's soft cry of pain.

"We have to get you to Vi - Aragorn," he gasped out.

"No, I am not worth it."

"Fuck to that. I didn't go to all the trouble of rescuing you, just for you to die of loss of blood."

"I will heal. The bleeding is staunched." Elrohir felt for Orli's hand, squeezed it hard. "You saved my life, Prince of Greenwood."

"Yeah well, I was bored." Orlando treated him to his very unelven grin, saw the flicker of confusion in the other's eyes.

"May I ask you something?"

Orlando shifted nervously under the direct elven gaze. For the past few months he'd delighted in soliciting just that response from the members of the fellowship - it wasn't amusing having the tables turned on him, especially since he'd been avoiding Elrohir and his brother for weeks.

"Shoot. I mean certainly."

"How well do you know Aragorn?" Once upon a time he'd have made a smart reply that he knew him in the biblical sense - but not today burdened with the thoughts of earlier, not to this elf especially.

"He is my friend and companion. A great man."

And it was true. Viggo was all those things but, despite their relationship, he had never crossed the boundary from friend to lover in Orli's mind.

"Forgive me. But I am brother to the Evenstar and I would know the truth." For all his wounds, Elrohir's poise was unaffected, he was every inch the elven prince.

Orlando coloured, choosing his words very carefully. This was no time for his usual flip answers and engaging smile. It occurred to him that he was the stranger here, the interloper in this elf's land and life. Viggo and he, until the appearance of the Dunedain and Arwen's nosy brothers, had given the real Aragorn and Legolas no consideration whatsoever; now Orlando realised belatedly just how their light easy romance affected so many other people. Earlier he'd been thinking about its effect on Sean but it affected so many other people too.

Liv Tyler played Arwen and Orlando had delighted in teasing her and goading her into unelven outbursts. But there was a real Arwen, an ageless elven princess who so loved the Ranger called Aragorn that she was willing to sacrifice her immortality for a few precious decades with him.

He'd laughed on set when Viggo and Liv filmed their romance scene on the bridge in Rivendell and he'd pretended to puke when Liv had waxed lyrical about her character's tragedy. But recent events and his own revelation about his relationship with Sean brought the matter into perspective for him. He understood now the true tragedy of Arwen's story which could so easily mirror his own had he been native to this reality. He imagined enduring the countless centuries without the touch of his lover's hands, the warmth of his voice. It would be hell, an eternity without consolation or joy.

"Aragorn and I were very close, Elrohir," he began at last and thought how appropriate the past tense sounded. "But he is an honourable man as you yourself must know. Nothing improper has occurred between Legolas and Aragorn, that I vow."

Elrohir held his gaze for a moment then he bowed his head in acknowledgement. "Forgive me," he said. "I grieve already for my sister who soon will be lost to me for all the ages of this world. To have her lost to me on a whim would break my heart."

"I understand." He understood many things.

The second day progressed very much like the first with the exception there were fewer men and more orcs. Time and again they were forced to give ground but Viggo's iron will never faltered and the army took heart at the indomitable resolve of their commander. The generals had held a very quick meeting the night before but orders had not changed nor would they. The army would maintain their stand here until no-one remained. The only thing that was important was ensuring the two Hobbits safe passage – it didn't matter how many thousands died in the pursuit of that. Viggo had finally confronted the uncomfortable admission - he would send all his people to their deaths if he could save just two little Hobbits.

A shout went up, echoed by hundreds of others. "The eagles are coming! The eagles!"

Viggo gazed in wonder as the great birds arrowed through the air; saw how the enemy greeted the appearance with trepidation and confusion like they were an omen of doom. He rallied his men with a great cry and all around, the Men of Gondor and Rohan redoubled their efforts.Suddenly there came a great unnatural scream from Mordor which seemed to vibrate in the earth and send lightening from the sky. The nazgul and other demons turned and fled towards the Dark Tower while all the hosts of Mordor seemed to tremble anew. Orcs faltered unsure, their harsh laughter silenced as the indomitable power which drove them seemed to waver, its will removed from them.

"What is this?" Viggo heard himself say and saw how Ian tensed like a bow string.

"Stand, Men of the West," he roared, using in his triumph the words from the book. "Stand and wait! This is the hour of doom!"

And even as he spoke, the earth shook beneath them and the Towers of the Teeth swayed, tottered and fell in an explosion of dust.

The Black Gate imploded.

All was quiet for the count of a few heartbeats then every eye fixed on Ian. Viggo could feel the terrible hope in his heart, prayed with all his might that it wouldn't be dashed.

"The realm of Sauron is ended!" cried Ian and the great eagle Gwahir bore him away to Mount Doom.

As the army marched home it was like the death sentence had been lifted. People sang and cheered and many marched with tears of wonder in their eyes. Orlando Bloom was so excited at the prospect of seeing his friends again that he chafed at the slow pace of the infantry. His keen eyes kept sweeping the eastern sky where fire belched in huge plumes from the volcano, hoping against hope to see the eagles. They were taking too long.

He found his thoughts wandering to home, real home, to that reality which had seemed like the landscape of a dream for so many months. So much to return to and so much to lose. He heard again the cry of the gull on the shore, saw in his mind's eye the graceful white ships sailing the Sundering Sea - ships he would never sail. He was an elf in this reality, graceful, wise and immortal. So much to give up. Yet Sean was waiting for him, Sean whom he loved. Without conscious thought Orli's gaze flickered to Viggo who rode just ahead with the sons of Elrond.

His sojourn in this reality was coming to an end, his elvishness was coming to an end - for so many months he'd dismissed guilt from his relationship with Viggo on the grounds that he was an elf doomed to an eternity without his true love taking solace in the arms of another. To the elves such relationships were accepted; to men they were not. How would Sean feel knowing his true love - whom he'd died for - had shared his bed with another? And how would Viggo feel knowing he would be so casually discarded like a toy outgrown?

**28**

For the time being the Eye had been forced away from them but they still had to deal with the orcs and other evil minions of the Dark Lord. They ran as fast as their weary legs would carry them that sunless evening but it was soon painfully obvious that Elijah could not maintain their frantic pace. The mental anguish was bad enough but the physical pain was beyond his endurance. The Ring was literally like a heavy pressure round his neck which made every step seem like a mile. It crushed his breath. But the pain came most strongly from inside and Elijah didn't need to be a doctor to know that he was bleeding from the rape despite what they had tried to do to staunch it.

He stopped again for the third time in as many minutes. In the last hour they had probably covered only the length of a football pitch. Sean slung his arm round his shoulders and by main force dragged him on. That was how they progressed - a few hundred yards then they would collapse, a few more hundred yards, collapse. Their love had given Elijah the strength to carry on even before the full force of the Eye - it would do it again.

"I remember our first time," Elijah mumbled. There was a fog in front of his eyes, he couldn't see anything except the Eye, but he could feel Sean's steady weight against his warming his cold flesh. "Felt so good. The look in your eyes."

"I remember what it felt like to be inside you, Elijah." Sean dropped them to the floor again, his face bathed in sweat. His arms and legs were shaking too badly to carry on. Elijah snuggled against him and they lay there together. "Saw the expression in your eyes as you came."

Lij's eyes were luminous in the dark. "I was so frightened, " he admitted, "that you wouldn't want me."

Sean held his gaze. "Want you so much." He paused. "Are you ready to finish this?"

Elijah felt for his hand, clasped it tightly as they continued. "Yes."

Long weary hours passed and it was now almost 24 hours since they had escaped. The Burden grew progressively worse. At first he couldn't walk or talk, all his energy directed inwards to resisting the Ring. Later as he grew even weaker and the Ring battered down his defences, he began to rave incoherently, sometimes in a mumbling whisper, sometimes in a full throated shout. All Sean could do was physically drag him along, tears streaming down his face.

Sean called a halt. They hadn't gone more than six or seven miles since dawn but he'd been carrying Elijah in a fireman's lift most of it and he needed to rest. They were down to their last bottle of water, their last wafer of lembas. He gathered Elijah close but the other Hobbit tried to pull away, shouting and cursing him as the Ring mastered him. Sean put his hand over his mouth, spoke quiet words to his lover until the younger actor's energy gave out and he collapsed against Sean's body. He muttered and mumbled incoherently, his beautiful eyes dark as they flickered this way and that in paranoia.

He hadn't meant to sleep, just to rest, because he knew how dangerous it was out here and how Elijah might wander off if he wasn't supervised but he was just so exhausted. He woke to see Elijah sitting next to his prone form. The younger actor was smiling at him as he tried to rub the sleep from his eyes. He felt Lij's hand skip over his chest and felt the Hobbit lean over to kiss him. He opened his mouth accepted the deep almost wild kisses while Elijah's hands roved inside his shirt to play with his nipples. He groaned in pleasure and surprise - it had been so long since Elijah had kissed him with passion. Then Elijah tweaked his nipple really hard and Sean yelped in pain.

"That's not funny, Lij! Elijah?"

The other Hobbit had a look of twisted pleasure on his face, an almost hungry look. Sean had seen that expression before on the orc's face as it raped Elijah.

"Fucking cunt," Elijah said, "you want it so bad, don't you? I bet your dick's harder than that fucking orc's."

The Ring was sullying even their love, it appeared. He fought for control to keep his voice gentle, level. "Just relax. Tell me who you are."

Elijah opened his own shirt, stroked his nipples until they were hard peaks. He licked his lips wantonly, goading Sean but the other felt nothing like love - it was like watching a seedy porno film. He caught Elijah's hands, used his greater strength to still him.

"Tell me who you are."

"Who do you want me to be?"

He cupped Elijah's face in his hands. "Fight it, Elijah. You can do it. Tell me who you are."

A flicker of something in those blue eyes. "Elijah Wood."

Sean held that gaze, punctuated each word with a shake of Elijah's head. "Again. Who are you?"

Rationality returned, falling through his eyes. "Elijah Wood. I'm Elijah Wood and you're Sean Astin." Elijah threw himself weakly into Sean's arms. "Oh God, Seanie, what did it make me do?"

Sean stroked his cheek but he was too shook up by the experience to kiss him. "Nothing, baby. It's all right now."

"It's getting stronger, isn't it?" His hands went unwillingly to the chain round his neck. "I don't think I can defy it much longer. So very tired."

Sean nodded, his jaw set. "Then we'd better get to this Mount Doom place quick. Come on."

"Now?"

"You got a prior engagement? Lij, I know we're both wasted but the sooner we get there, the sooner you get your mind back. I estimate another day and we'll be there. Come on."

 

Mount Doom towered above them, spewing out acrid smoke and flame. They'd eaten the last of the food a day ago, the last drop of water this morning. Sean's tongue felt like it was sticking out of his mouth it was so swollen and his throat was so dry it hurt to swallow. His legs were jelly. Elijah huddled next to him, not moving, not even blinking it seemed. He was so damned weak now from lack of food and water and from the blood loss. Sean had had to carry him the last day but he'd gritted his teeth against the exploding pain in his lungs and kept going, hour after hour because he knew Elijah's willpower wouldn't last much longer.

"Lij, Lij." He hit his sunken cheeks until the other's eyes flickered open. Such hurt there. "We have to get going. I can't carry you, Lij. Not up that slope. Are you listening?"

A barely perceptible nod. "Can manage." Elijah wove to his feet with Sean's help and Sean saw the determination in his eyes. "This is it."

 

They had arrived. Sean felt absolutely nothing. For so many wretched months he'd dreamt about this terrible place but now he couldn't feel anything. Not even relief. Elijah's hand was cold in his and the Hobbit was trembling. He'd been rasping for breath for days now, each lungful of air almost defeating him; it was so much worse here where the very air was a poisoned fume.

From somewhere Sean summoned up the strength to say, "Let's get this over with." He began to lead the way, head bent against the smoke and heat, dragging Elijah with him.

 

This was it. His moment. He thought back to that beautiful glade by the lake in fair Lothlorien. He could almost hear the birds singing, feel the dappling of the golden light shining amber and honey on his skin. It was so long ago.

Pay-back time.

He'd killed Gollum without mercy. Just as Bilbo's pity had ruled the fate of the quest for their counterparts, so Sean's lack of pity ruled the fate of theirs. So many consequences and possibilities were bound in the fate of the quest: Ian and Beanie dying, Dom and Billy seeking capture, Elijah resisting the Ring. Sean's choice in that forest glade where time had stood still had been simple - to kill Gollum with pity or without. He'd failed.

He crept forward to the mouth of the volcano. The heat was amazing. He'd been to Egypt once where stepping off the plane had been like walking into an oven. This was even worse. The heat burned your throat and skin.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't knowingly throw himself into the raging fire - it was just not possible. He was honest enough to admit that even in Cirith Ungol he'd only been sorry about Gollum's death because of the consequences - because, in effect, he'd been found out and would be punished. He was like a kid who said he was sorry for stealing the cookie but was actually sorry he'd been found out. Now he was truly sorry for Gollum. He had seen what Elijah had had to endure, had lived with his own guilt and shame these last few days and he could empathise with the poor fallen creature whose soul had been systematically destroyed by the greatest evil the world had ever known.

Yes, he was sorry for Gollum but he still couldn't leap into the abyss. Not for Gollum, not for the quest. The amount of pain and agony such a death promised was something his mind shrank from.

Elijah was muttering to himself and Sean could just pick out the words: "Can do it, can do it, can do it." But even as he listened the tumbled words changed, "Can't do it, can't do it. Won't do it."

Elijah's voice was growing stronger, deeper. Sean shut his ears, not wanting to hear, not wanting to witness this courageous individual fail. Very well, he'd pay the price. He'd ensure the quest was fulfilled. But he wasn't going to do it for Fate or to repair the damage - he'd do it for love. Because he couldn't bare Elijah transfigured into the grotesque shape of the Dark Lord, because he didn't want to see those eyes afire with malice and hatred. Because he wanted to get Elijah home safely where the ravages of this hellish place could be healed.

From a great distance, or so it seemed, he heard Elijah's voice, clearer and more powerful than it had ever been: "I have come. But I do not choose now do to what I came to do. I will not do this deed. The Ring is mine!"

Elijah held aloft the Ring, began slipping it on his finger - Sean grabbed his hand, yanked it away.

"No."

The other Hobbit's eyes flared like the very fires of hell and not even the orcs had broken Sean like that look did. "

Fuck off, maggot," Elijah stated and before Sean could react or even begin to react, the Hobbit had drawn Sting. The blade glittered with a merciless cold. Sean backed off slightly, some part of him thinking enough to keep both him and Elijah away from the chasm. "Elijah, I want you to do something for me - "

"Fucking cunt - I saw you in Cirith Ungol, you pervert. You were enjoying it, weren't you?" Elijah sent Sting slicing through the air and Sean felt the rush of air past his ear.

"Tell me who you are!" he shouted above the roar of the fire, above the roar of his own heart. He caught Elijah's gaze and saw the battle raging there: The power was amazing and yet it wasn't Elijah's power. Even as he felt the thrill, Elijah's innermost soul was shrivelling and that spark of Elijah that the Ring hadn't beaten into submission was grieving. Sean appealed to that dying light: "Tell me!"

"I'm Eli - No. I am the Lord of the Rings."

"No," He was crying now. "You're Elijah Wood. And you love me. Think. You can do it."

"Oh, Sean help me!" Elijah screamed, the turmoil driving him to his knees.

Oh, how easy to just grab the Ring by main force and throw it into the chasm for Elijah - but Sean knew instinctively that that would break Elijah's mind. Elijah had to choose to give up the ring himself, he had to deny it.

Before he could think further, Elijah was on his feet again, coiled like a rabid beast, a grotesque smile on his face. "Fucking cunt. You will not defeat me, worthless halfling."

Again Elijah stabbed at him, this time ripping at his arm, slicing deeply into flesh. Sean screamed with the pain. Elijah seemed to waver as though the yell had stunned him. Sean pressed home the advantage. "Think! Think about Hannah!"

"Hannah?" For a second the blue eyes flickered with memory.

"Yeah - remember what she's doing - the water pistol?"

"Yes." Elijah closed his eyes, his sword arm drooped. Then, like the flick of a switch, his body tensed again and his face contorted. He let out a cackling laugh that spoke of mockery and corruption so different from Elijah's joyful girly giggle.

"Oh no. I know your game. That won't work. You won't get the precious, Astin. It's mine. My own, my precious."

"I don't want the Ring. Please, think. Remember us? You kissed me. In Lothlorien."

There was a sharp pricking sensation and he looked down with something akin to surprise to see Sting piercing his belly. Sean wove unsteadily on his feet and met Elijah's eyes. Those beautiful sapphire eyes, wide with disgust and shock at what he had just done. Elijah began to withdraw the sword but Sean held his hands still.

"Oh God, Seanie, what have I done? No! Please." Stars seem to fall in those gorgeous eyes.

"It's not too deep - " Sean smiled. "Have I got your attention now?" he asked surprised at
how well his voice sounded. Elijah nodded dazedly. "You have to destroy the Ring."

And looking deep into his lover's eyes, Sean pushed the sword deep into his own belly. Paid in full, he thought.

"NO!!!"

Sean staggered to the floor, Elijah falling with him. He caught the Hobbit's frantic hands.

"Remember how it felt to love me? Me inside you?" His voice was failing, it hurt so much to speak.

"No, Sean, don't die. Please. I need you!"

Sean noticed the Ring abandoned by Elijah's side. He nodded to himself. The sacrifice had been made; all would be well. "Remember how it felt?" he repeated.

"Yes, god dammit! Sean, why?!"

He tightened his hold on Elijah's hands. "Tell me."

"It felt like we were one. It felt like I was a part of you." Elijah was still crying but he seemed calmer now. He slid a gentle finger down Sean's cheek, leaned in to kiss him. "I love you."

"We will go there - "

"- And back again."

Elijah saw the light in his lover's eyes dim and he drew him close, rocked him.

 

Images came to him: He was in Lothlorien with Sean. They were holding hands, this love of theirs still new and fresh to them. They were sitting in a glade and Sean was encircling Elijah's russet head with elanor. They were in the Emyn Muil, Elijah's knees raised, Sean's hand resting there in the most intimate of places as he suckled Elijah's nipples. They were in Ithilien and Elijah was looking deep into Sean's eyes as he came to completion, joined one flesh to the man he loved.

He returned abruptly to the heat and terrible hatred of Mount Doom. He shook his head as if to clear it and reluctantly looked at the abandoned Ring. It trilled at him, its voice soaring in the vaults of his mind. But this time there was no response, no compulsion to listen. He didn't see the great Eye nor the perfect gold of the Ring - he saw Sean dying for him. Like it was a particularly unsavoury form of maggot, he picked it up.

He clutched the Ring tightly and walked confidently to the edge of Mount Doom. He didn't look down. He opened his hand and looked at the Ring for the last time.

He shouted in defiance of the Dark Lord. In defiance of all the pain, all the suffering, and all the death. His Seanie's death.

"For Sean!" and he threw the thing deep into the chasm with all his strength.

**29**

All hell seemed to erupt around him. Fires leapt up and licked the roof while the throbbing, like a giant heartbeat, grew to a great tumult that vibrated so loudly in his ears that it hurt. The mountain began to shake. Elijah screamed in pain at the increased heat burning him and the pressure building in his ears. Boulders and fissures of rock were falling into the cavern from above and the platform they were on was starting to give way. He could feel the incline increase, felt himself sliding inexorably towards the chasm.

He had quite intended to die here but rebellion surged within him - he wasn't going to allow Sean's body to be consumed by the same evil that had consumed the Ring. He wanted to hold him beneath the blue sky, keep his lover's body as unspoilt and unravaged as possible.

Then he could die.

Elijah stood up, furiously slipping and sliding in the heat and turmoil, and lifted his lover's dead weight onto his shoulders. He was very weak, bleeding again and covered in hundreds of burns and lesions but Sean felt comforting against his skin. He inched along one step at a time, all his energy directed to doing this one last thing.

At last, on a small hillock, he let Sean slip to the ground. The sky was raining fire but off to the west it was a brilliant blue colour. Elijah gathered his lover close, kissed the cold cheek and waited for death to claim him while in his dreams, he walked the glades of Lothlorien hand in hand with his Sean.

 

Ian hung on grimly to Gwaihir's back, the wind snatching at his beard and robe, as they flew towards Oroduin. Even this high up, the sky was thick with smog and sulphur and Ian had to hold his scarf across his mouth to breathe. Gwaihir dodged the bolts of lightening from the sky and the belching fires from below.

"Anything? Do you see anything?"

"Nay, Gandalf. The fire rages too fiercely and we cannot stay long."

Ian clutched the soft feathers in despair. "A little longer, my friend, I beg you." He had never prayed in his life but he did now, fervently, with his whole soul. Almost in answer, he felt Gwaihir furl his wings and dive; he squinted through the smoke until he saw what Gwaihir had spied - two small bodies lying prone on a small hillock while all around them fire rained.

He leapt off Gwaihir's back with a crunch of bones and almost fell over his friends in his haste to touch them. He gently, tenderly turned Elijah over, crying out at the ravages the months had inflicted on the young actor's face. He felt for a pulse, held his head over his heart until he heard the faint beat.

"Hold on, Lij, a little longer," he muttered moving to Sean. It was a funny thing but his jubilation at finding Elijah still alive was so encompassing that he automatically assumed in that wild excitement that Sean would be alive too. He bent his head, expecting to hear the heart beating beneath. There was nothing.

There must be some mistake, there must be, he thought frantically and again bent his head, willing the beat to be there. It sank in then; the cold body, the stiffening joints, the blood on Sean's tunic.

Ian McKellan, who had survived a mind rape by Saruman and had resisted the Eye, flung back his head and screamed his denial.

He saw the eagles far off, mere specks growing gradually bigger.

"They're here!" Orlando yelled, leaping on top of Viggo and nearly knocking him over. Dom and Billy were doing an improvised highland fling. The four rushed down to the courtyard of the Houses of Healing where Gwaihir would land.

"What can you see? Orli, for fuck's sake, what do you see?" Billy asked, the words falling out in a jumble.

"It's okay, it's okay. Elijah's on the second eagle, Sean's in Ian's arms. Thank God, oh thank God!" Orlando jumped up and down on the spot impatiently until the birds began to land. It was then he saw Ian's face, the caved in desperate expression. A weight seemed to thud onto Orlando's chest - he turned away.

Ian climbed down from Gwaihir and his knees buckled as his friends huddled round, Viggo lifting Elijah down and holding him close. "We couldn't find them at first. So much smoke. I found them a mile or so away from the volcano," the knight said, his voice soft, almost disbelieving.

"He had been ... dead for a while, I think."

Orlando didn't understand. "So we wait for him. As I wait for my Sean. He will be returned to us at the teleportation site - "

Ian was shaking his head, his jaw set tightly. "He wasn't supposed to die, you see. Boromir's death was foretold so your Sean is accounted for - but Sam wasn't supposed to die."

"You mean he's really dead - forever?" Billy asked.

Viggo grabbed hold of the two Hobbits, hugged them fiercely while all the time Ian cradled Sean's body so tenderly.

"Please, Ian, not after what we've been through. Don't tell me it was all for nothing." The old wizard slowly, so very sadly shook his head.

"Oh my dear boys, I'm so sorry, I'm so very sorry."

 

Once, after Ian's fall in Moria, Viggo had swallowed his own grief and got the fellowship moving on. He did it again now in this courtyard where the birds were singing and the faint cheers and jubilation of the reprieved city could be heard.

"We can fall apart later. We have to attend to Elijah. Billy, Dom, Orlando, see to Gwaihir's needs. Ian, you're with me."

"No," Billy stated, very clearly.

Viggo rounded on him. "Shut your fucking face, Billy! The eagles are burnt and dehydrated because of us - you will see to their wounds and you will see to them now."

The Hobbit fell quiet under that flat glare. Viggo carried Elijah into the House, Ian following with Sean. Viggo led the sad procession into the room they had put aside.

Candles burned merrily and a smell like spring after a harsh winter wafted in from the open window. It only made the loss worse, like nature was mocking them.

Viggo lay Elijah on the bed then turned to Ian who was staring at Sean's broken form, still held so lovingly in his arms. The Dane had no idea what you did with ... dead bodies. He supposed the body should be taken to the morgue room but his mind flinched from such an undignified suggestion; he wasn't ready to admit Sean was dead yet, sending him there would mean he had to confront the issue. So he took the Hobbit from Ian's arms, trying not to think about how stiff the joints were, how cold the skin felt, and laid him down on the spare bed. Stupid, considering, but he also drew the blanket up to Sean's chest.

Ian didn't move or react. Viggo regarded the old wizard for a moment then quite ruthlessly slapped his face. The blue eyes flickered, focussed on his. He felt anger stir at Ian's emotional collapse - it meant he had to be the strong one when all he wanted to do was cry. He grabbed Ian's arms, shook him hard enough to bruise and forced him to look at Sean's body.

"Sean is dead, Ian. Dead. Look at him! Fuck you, look at him!" Ian's eyes slid to the cherubic-like face.

"And that's what is going to happen to Elijah too if you don't pull yourself together. Got that? You've been the strong one all the way through this nightmare - you will not succumb now. Either help me save Lij or get the hell out of here." Another violent shake. "But God help me if you fail Elijah now, I'll curse you to hell and back, I swear."

There was a strangled whimper then Ian pulled away. Viggo watched him pass a hand over his sweat soaked face, saw him breathe deeply, the shoulders straighten.

"Ian?" he asked, needing so much for Ian to be strong. Ian met his eyes and the old man nodded.

They turned their attention to Elijah but both could see out of the corner of their eye the still form on the other bed. Ian stripped the Hobbit while Viggo crushed athelas in warm water and prepared the various bandages etc. Elijah was almost a skeleton; fragile before, he was now so thin they could see all his ribs and pelvic bone. His face and exposed skin were burnt or heat blasted while the rest of him was covered in whip marks, bruises and cuts. His skin and hair were crawling with lice.

Worse than that was the barely perceptible pulse, the depressed heart beat. Elijah had defied the great Eye in Cirith Ungol but all the fight had been pummelled out of him on the slopes of Mount Doom. He'd given up, his body slowly dying as the mind retreated.

While Ian set to bathing and dressing the burns, Viggo settled himself next to the prone form and reached for his mind. He'd healed Orlando, brought Dom back from the brink following his encounter with the WitchKing - but he'd never wanted his healing power to work as much as now. He rested a heavy hand over Elijah's heart, the other over his temples and poured all his love and encouragement and hope into the shattered soul. He felt like he was floating, detached from everything. He couldn't feel the bed beneath his body nor the Hobbit under his hands; even his sense of weight, of time and space were distorted. He was in a void and somewhere in that void was a pale light that was fading to nothing.

He poured himself into the link, willed Elijah to return, to heal. The familiar tingling intensified like he was holding an electrified fence and he felt rather than heard Elijah's heart strengthening. He concentrated on that beat, flowing himself, his life energy into it.

When he'd healed Dom, he'd poured so much of himself into the Hobbit that he'd almost drained himself - this time, he felt like he was being swallowed into a black hole, sucked dry of everything.

Something slammed into his consciousness. It took a few seconds to identify the something as a slap across the face and a few more seconds for his nerves to reorientate themselves enough to feel the pain. He wrenched away from the link, fell back against Ian like a giant marshmallow. Even his teeth felt fuzzy. Eventually he was able to sit up without support, to focus on Ian's face. Talking took a while longer.

"I'm okay. I've stabilised him. He'll live."

"But?"

"I can't reach his mind, Ian, he's retreated so far. All I feel is darkness."

Ian nodded and Viggo felt reassured that the wizard seemed to be taking his report with his customary equilibrium.

"I think it will take many days, my friend. Why don't you go and rest for an few hours then try again." Ian almost glanced at Sean, decided not to. "Tell the others what's happening. I'll see to the rest of Lij's injuries and," he almost managed to say it without his voice trembling "see to our dear Sean."

Viggo did flick a look at Sean, regretted it. Then he nodded and allowed Ian to escort him to the door where the waiting trio accosted him. Ian hobbled back to Elijah, feeling the weight of years press more heavily than ever. He stroked a gentle hand through the greasy filthy dirty hair.

"Now my dear boy, let's see if we can't make you a little more comfortable, hmm?"

 

It was evening, a pale moon shining among the brightest stars they had witnessed even in Middle Earth. Ian stood staring out of the window lost in thought, rubbing his fingers absently where Saruman's fire still burned, seeing the terror of Cirith Ungol and Mount Doom rather than the stars.

He'd examined Elijah thoroughly and he knew what the orcs had done. The Hobbit was torn badly and would need further medical attention; Ian couldn't begin to imagine the humiliation and pain he must have been subjected to. The other injuries were less severe: dehydration and malnutrition could be reversed relatively quickly and Viggo's touch had healed the burns and bruises. It was Elijah's mental state Ian worried about.

He glanced over at the sleeping Hobbit. He had never seen a coma patient but Elijah didn't look tense or frozen in time like he had expected; he looked heavily asleep. Only close to could Ian discern the transparent quality like he was literally fading away. He'd had to shave his hair - all of his hair - to remove the lice infestation and he looked even younger, even more fragile without the bouncy russet curls.

Ian let his gaze wander to the other still form. He'd concentrated stoically on the matter at hand while cleaning and readying Sean's body; he hadn't allowed himself to dwell on the blue tinge already overtaking the lips and skin or the stiffness of the joints. He'd talked to Sean too while he dressed him in his freshly laundered clothes, stroked back the sandy hair with wistful fingers. There was, had been all along, a look of peace and fulfilment on Sean's face as though he had not suffered.

It was such a small consolation.

He had seen too many people die, his parents and grandparents, dear friends and so very many colleagues, acquaintances and loved ones to the scourge that was AIDS. He'd held a dying friend's hand leading him on his final journey in a blue room full of flowers. None of them compared to what he felt for Sean. The worst of it was, it wasn't supposed to be like that. The fellowship had suffered collectively the horrors of the damned - by all the laws of fiction and destiny, that demanded the quest would succeed, the Hobbits would survive.

God dammit, hadn't Sean suffered enough in Cirith Ungol? Hadn't Elijah, without foisting Sean's death on him too?

 

The hours passed and still Elijah hovered on the edge. Every minute he grew paler and the life force seemed to ebb away. He was moved to the house that had been put at the disposal of the fellowship and there they gathered round him, ministering to him, an unspoken agreement that he would never be left alone. More often than not, all of them could be found there unless pressing business kept them away.

Dom and Billy were sat with Elijah holding the ice-cold hand, talking to him. They had long since exhausted even their extensive collection of anecdotes and memories but they kept going, hoping against hope that something would penetrate the unnatural sleep. Elijah's skin was almost silver and his breath barely noticeable.

"I know it's hard, baby," Dom said, stroking his fingers over Lij's bare scalp "but you have to come back to us. We can't lose you too!" He choked, pounded his fist against the wall which didn't mind the abuse. He glanced at Billy, saw him nod and carried on. He had a link here with Elijah; he'd been in a coma, he knew what it felt like to actively retreat from evil. He could still see the WitchKing, smell the odour of decay.

"I know what you're going through. Don't you fucking hate it when people tell you that? Like when happily married couples tell you you're gonna find somebody soon or working actors tell you you'll find a job soon? But I do know, Lij. I've been there, done that, bought the homespun shirt with matching waistcoat."

"Keep going," Billy murmured.

"I felt so cold, so alone and I couldn't think past the WitchKing. But I couldn't stay in that safe little bubble - you can't either. There is something to live for, a reason to keep going." Dom had been crying throughout most of his speech but now he broke down completely because, it seemed to him, there wasn't anything for Elijah to return to except more pain and suffering.

Billy's undemanding gentle love had brought Dom back but there was no romantic solution for Lij, no deathbed scene where Seanie could kiss him awake like Sleeping Beauty. Would the bond of the fellowship be enough? Dom had never experienced the depth of love which had bound them irrevocably, one to the other. Perhaps their love would be enough for Lij. Perhaps.

"How does it feel to be a conquering hero?" Orlando asked Viggo as they paced the house's small garden.

"Flat. Worthless. I should feel elated or triumphant, coming back to claim my own but I don't. This is Aragorn's city, not mine. All I care about is lying in that room growing colder minute by minute."

"I lost my gran when I was little," Orlando said quietly, "and I remember thinking that she would come back. Mum and Dad had told me she was dead and I didn't think they were lying exactly, I just thought there was some mistake. I could almost see her walking down the street towards me." He trailed off, said wistfully, "I keep thinking Sean will come back too."

This was fantasy, wasn't it? In fantasy, people came back from the dead all the time. Ian had returned, Doctor Who regenerated, even Mr Spock had magically been resurrected and Sean Astin was supposed to come back too. It was what made this whole mess bearable knowing that this reality was not your own, that its physical laws did not apply to you; finding suddenly that they did after all Sean had suffered was so monumentally unfair Orlando couldn't begin to cope with it.

Viggo nodded. The quest, that shining and noble Cause, was over and it seemed such a slight thing now to weigh against Sean's death. He should feel empathy for poor Eomer who was fighting his own battle of grief for not only his uncle but his sister; he should consider the thousands of valiant warriors who had died in the same cause; he should look to the prosperous future bought with Sean's blood - but he couldn't. All he could think was it wasn't worth it, none of it was.

Orlando went to share the vigil with the two Hobbits but Viggo went to find Ian. The old man was sat in the living room, leaning towards the fire, his gnarled hands cupped over his pipe. His blue eyes were lost in the depths of the fire and Viggo shivered as he recalled the last fire Ian had seen. He strode over.

"Hey," he said, stunning himself with his own brilliancy.

The old man barely acknowledged him. Viggo pulled over a chair and wished Gondor believed in cushions; the chair was ornately carved but his various bruises and tired muscles complained at the hardness.

"It's not fair, is it?" he asked quietly. It would never be fair.

"My mind was linked with Elijah's for a moment, in the darkness of Cirith Ungol. I felt, distinctly, Viggo, what he suffered in that foul place. You have no comprehension of what they endured and I hope for your sanity, my friend, that you never have." Ian's gaze flickered to Viggo, returned abruptly to the fire.

"I think Elijah might be better off where he is. At least he doesn't have to deal with ..."

"Sean's death?" Gently Viggo took Ian's hands in his, the hands that had been ravaged by a different kind of fire. "We still have to try to bring him round, Ian. Sean gave his life for him, how can we allow Lij to wither away knowing the price his love paid?"

"I know." The beautiful voice, so rich in timbre and intonation, the voice Viggo could have listened to for hours on set, was shot through with despair. "I am just so weary of this."

Viggo moved to kneel in front of his friend, cupped the head in his hands, kissed the forehead gently. "You have to let go, Ian. Cry."

Ian touched the tears streaming down Viggo's face almost wonderingly; the Dane half laughed.

"What is it Gandalf says? Not all tears are evil?" He stroked back the white hair, looked deeply into those dry blue eyes. He remembered how, all those months ago, he had seen Ian not cry over Saruman too. "Surely Sean deserves your tears?"

Ian dropped his gaze. "How can I cry, Viggo? Elijah lies dying, fading little by little, his spirit crushed by evil we cannot imagine. If he awakes, how can I cry, knowing what else he must endure?" He kissed Viggo's forehead almost in forgiveness. "No I will not cry. I have no right."

There was silence for the longest time then Viggo spoke again, hating himself for doing so.

"Ian? I know, I know it's so fucking unfair but we have to bring him back."

For a moment Ian remained where he was then he nodded once and followed Viggo up the stairs. The Dane attempted to dismiss the Hobbits and elf from the room but they point blanked refused.

"He's our friend too," Dom said with such belligerence that Viggo was quite convinced the Hobbit would fight him to the death rather than leave.

Ian unexpectedly agreed. "Let them stay, Vig. Who knows whose voice will bring him round?"

Viggo prepared the athelas. He wondered dryly if he was like Pavlov's dogs and could only heal people to the scent of athelas. Dom and Billy settled down on the far side of the bed, Orli knelt next to the bed so he could be close to both Elijah and Viggo while Ian propped himself up at the head of the bed and gently drew Elijah's plaint body into his arms. He murmured soft words to the Hobbit, stroked the nude scalp.

"Ready?" asked Viggo, sitting on the edge of the bed.He counted four nods.

Viggo placed one hand over Elijah's heart, one over his temples and concentrated. Last time he had mind linked, he had felt only darkness like the mind had withdrawn, now he was confronted by one image, that of a beautiful gold band wreathed in fire falling gracefully though the air. He couldn't take his eyes off it, its perfect roundness, the purity of the metal. He felt lust and greed and such a deep deep need. The Ring seemed to be growing bigger, drawing him like a siren. He exerted the same iron willpower that had got his men through the Paths of the Dead and slowly the image faded.

"Elijah, come back to us," he commanded.

Orlando cleared his throat then began to speak, his musical voice cut with tension.

"Do you remember the first time we met, Lij? You saw Seanie across the hotel and you just ran to each other and hugged? You were so right for each other." The young elf's voice faltered and he glanced over at Ian for comfort. The old man nodded, smiled sadly.

"Remember the football game, mate? You didn't even know how to play. Beanie didn't talk to you for days and insisted on tutoring you on the off side rule. Remember that? In the canteen? He hauled you off-set by your pointy ears." Dom smiled at the memory. "He illustrated using a pepper pot as the ref, and grapes and - what was it? - for the two teams?"

"Anchovies off my pizza," Billy supplied.

"Yeah! And you ate one of the men. God, was Beanie pissed."

"Remember when Sean got hit by the sound boom?" Billy asked. "He did the perfect comedy fall, he just - " he stopped abruptly at the look on Vig's face but the Dane, a very intense look on his face, waved him on. "- collapsed like. You went with him to the hospital, didn't you Lij? And as I recall, you bribed the nurse for his X Ray and you had copies of it put up everywhere."

"Yeah," Dom continued. "Sean'd be doing a scene and he'd lift up a mug of ale in Bree and there'd be his X ray scan - or he'd be walking through Hobbiton and there it would be on the sign post."

All eyes were fixed on Viggo's face and the Dane whispered, "He's coming out of it. Keep going."

The four exchanged glances. "

And do you remember, dear boy, when Beanie put joke soap in your trailer? We all had to pretend your face was fine when it was really covered in the blackest muck. Oh that was very good!"

Elijah's hand twitched slightly and Ian covered it with his own.

"Come on, my Elijah, come back to us. You're safe now. We love you." The others echoed the words and Billy kissed the soft cheek gently. The eyes moved under the eyelids and taking a deep breath, Elijah Wood surfaced. His lips moved slightly and Orlando's heart twinged as he caught the one wistful word:

"Seanie."

And Ian McKellan regarded the Hobbit sadly - and still didn't cry.

 

Elijah looked round at all the faces, so familiar and yet oddly not. It was too much trouble to keep his eyes open, they felt so heavy. He felt one of his friends squeeze his hand and his flesh crawled at the unlooked for touch. Someone was speaking, a deep resonant voice which he remembered with love. Ian.

"Welcome back, my dear boy."

Elijah flickered his eyes open, they felt so sticky and uncomfortable like someone had parked a truck load of gravel in them. He had an impression of white then water was being dribbled ever so gently into his eyes. The relief was immense. He could focus on Ian now, Ian whom he had half expected to lose too. The old man looked far older despite the white robes and ridiculous straight white hair. The Hobbit couldn't smile, didn't think he'd ever be able to again, but he squeezed Ian's hand in greeting.

Another face came into focus, ballooned very close and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. Again Elijah flinched at the caress. He recognised the sticking out ears and bright gold waistcoat as belonging to Dom but, like Ian, the picture he had held of his friend through all the dark months didn't tally with the serious face before him. He remembered his last view of Dom, getting caught by the orcs to buy his safety.

"Hi, Lij. You did it, baby."

That naturally drew his gaze to Billy, a very pinched Billy who looked much older than he usually did. "I love you, Lij."

Elijah's gaze shifted to the brooding face of Viggo. The last time he had seen the Dane he was trying to take the Ring from him, a look of crazed intensity alight in those dark eyes. He looked almost majestic now, very centred in himself and he was smiling but Elijah could see the grief etched in his face. "We missed you so much, Lij. You're going to be fine, we're all here for you."

"Yes Lij, we love you so much. Don't worry, we'll get you through this." The voice was musical and Lij saw the elven ears and fine blond hair. Orlando looked the least changed physically since he had last seen him and yet the eyes were very old like he'd seen too much.

Elijah looked from one to the other, wanting there to be another beloved face in the line-up, knew there wouldn't be. He closed his eyes, it was easier.

"Sean's dead," he said, surprised that he didn't start crying or something. But there were no tears, there was so very little inside him, just a desert scoured by the Ring.

"We know, my dearest boy." There was a heavy pause then Ian continued, "You can tell us all about it when you're ready. We're all very proud of you."

Proud? Probably they were. The quest was a screaming success, the Ring destroyed, what did it matter that he had killed his lover?

"Whatever." He didn't have the strength to argue.

Another long pause followed by some whispering then the bed moved and Elijah listlessly opened his eyes to see all his friends had gone, except Ian.

"Oh my dear Lij," the old man said and the tears, which had not fallen at the mind rape nor at finding Sean dead, began to fall as he told Elijah that Sean would never be coming back.

**30**

The days passed and the Hobbit's friends were amazed at how rapidly Elijah seemed to recover physically. They could practically see him heal before their very eyes. He put on weight, the bruises faded, the burns disappeared, leaving not even a blemish and the pale skin flushed with new colour. His hair grew back into a peach fuzz.

"Can you tell me of Sean?" Ian was walking through the house's little garden with Elijah who looked at the grass and the flowers like a man whose sight has been returned to him after years of blindness. Mordor had been so unlovely, a land made barren, that Elijah was frankly amazed at the vibrancy of colour around him.

"Not yet, not much, Ian."

The old man nodded his wise old head, perhaps guessing the burden of Elijah's heart. "You were tempted beyond your endurance. There's no reason to feel ashamed."

"It was Sean who destroyed the Ring, Ian. Not me. I don't deserve the accolades and honours. I don't deserve any of this!"

Ian held out his hand, gratified when the Hobbit accepted it. They had all been careful about physical contact since Elijah had had a fit at Dom kissing his forehead.

"I thought it was something like that. My dear Elijah."

"Please, I just ... just want it to be over. I don't want to carry on. I can't. It hurts too much. Why did you have to rescue me?!"

Ian regarded the hobbit's anguished face a moment. "Elijah. Time will heal the guilt you cannot yet share but do not be too quick to condemn yourself. You carried the greatest evil the world has ever known."

"And in the end," Elijah whispered, "I failed."

A measured nod. "I know, Lij."

"How - "

"Foresight. A gift of my regeneration."

"I felt you die in Moria," Elijah whispered as though struggling with the memory, "but later as Sean and I crossed the Emyn Muil, the despair didn't seem so evil - I felt at peace."

"I sought to bond with you, my dear Elijah, to share the terrible burden as much as I could. Even in Mordor I was there. As I was saying, a gift but it is not a comfortable gift or one I would wish on anyone. I talked to Galadriel in Lothlorien where I was given to understand many things. Let me see if I can explain the complex workings of fate which played out on the slopes of Mount Doom."

He took a long pull at his pipe, blew out a few smoke rings. "Our lives here are governed by choices, dear boy. You faced many choices which sucked at your willpower - to resist the Ring, to deny the Eye. You may not have realised it, Lij, but every single time you defied the Ring's voice, the success of the quest became more certain."

"I .. gave in a few times," Elijah admitted not understanding where this was going and wondering if he were in for a two hour lecture. There was however something oddly familiar about Ian in full lecture mode.

"Of course you did, my dear fellow, but for the vast majority of the time you resisted and that mattered enormously." Ian puffed on his pipe thoughtfully. Elijah walked closer to him, felt passively comfortable when the old man slung his arm round his shoulders without letting go of his tiny hand. "Sean faced his own choices. He faced a test in Lothlorien, one I am afraid he didn't pass."

"When he killed Gollum?"

"Exactly."

"But he had to kill him. He had his hands round my throat. What did you want him to do, write a sternly worded letter?"

"Oh I agree. Sean had no choice but to kill Gollum. But he did it without mercy. Understand, Elijah, I'm not judging the dear boy - even with all that I have learned, I think if I were presented with the same situation, I would have relished throttling him too."

"I still don't understand why this matters to Mount Doom."

"Because every choice has ramifications. There was a price to pay. Sean's price was death. It might seem unfair to us but that is not for us to decide."

"He kept talking about Gollum. Neither of us really understood. We just thought his significance lay in the fact that he acted as guide to Frodo." He remembered with a cold feeling in his stomach how casually he had dismissed Gollum's part in the destruction of the Ring.

"At the end Sean understood. He realised for the quest to succeed he had to redeem himself for Gollum. But, ah Lij, my dear boy, this is where grace comes in. His sacrifice was a two edged sword, on the one hand bringing death, on the other life. By submitting to his fate, Sean brought about the fulfilment of the quest."

He heard a choked sound and knelt to Elijah's eye level. Tears streamed down Lij's face and the sobs that wracked him seemed to pummel through his frail body. Ian stroked his hands over the nude scalp, wiped at the tears with his fingers.

"Sean's death gave you the strength to resist the Ring."

"Like I said I failed. It's Sean who should be here! Not me! My weakness killed my best friend, my lover!"

"Look at me," Ian commanded and the hobbit raised his small chin to look at the old man. There was compassion and pride in Ian's gaze.

"Share your thoughts with me."

"No. Not that."

"Believe in yourself as Sean did. As I do. Share your thoughts of that dark time so I can help, so I can show you."

Elijah gave the smallest of nods and Ian led him by the hand to the garden bench. The scent of flowers was very strong and a bird chirruped in the tree. Ian pressed the Hobbit's small hand over his heart, took a few deep breaths.

"Look at me," he murmured quietly.

Immediately a window seemed to open in Elijah's mind. He saw himself and Sean at Mount Doom but felt removed from them as though he were just a spectator. The images flowed before him - he understood. Ian broke the connection, squeezed and rubbed the small hand, fighting the urge to gather the Hobbit close like he would have done once.

"Do you see?"

Elijah was crying again but his tears were more peaceful. The wizard murmured reassurance to him until the hobbit blew lustily into his hanky and managed a watery smile. Ian twinkled at him as he relit his pipe, took a few deep pulls.

"It seems to me," he said urbanely, "that you had a choice too, Lij. You pierced him with your sword - I know it's difficult - but that wound was not mortal. You snapped to yourself at that moment - the Ring's power over you broke - and you tried to pull the blade out. Your choice. Sean stopped you and it was he who sank the blade in deeper. He killed himself. His choice. Then you willingly gave up the Ring. Your choice. Sean might have given you incentive as it were - but you were the one who still had to physically destroy it, you still had to make that choice. And you did it because of love. You did it because you loved Sean more than you lusted for the Ring."

"You're right."

"Of course I am," Ian huffed indignantly. "Elijah, there were two tests in operation that day - Sean's and yours. Sean's death redeemed him for Gollum and strengthened your resolve. But you still had to make your choice, pass your test. You still had to accept Sean's love and there had to be answering love within your own heart." Ian beamed suddenly. "If you think about it, the quest was fulfilled because of love."

He blew out a particularly fine set of smoke rings turned them multi coloured. Elijah smiled, rested his head on Ian's chest, the first physical contact he had initiated.

"Thank you."

 

How's Lij? That was how they seemed to start every conversation. It had been a terrible time, worse than the immediate aftermath of Mount Doom because they had been forced to confront the fact that their friend was truly dead. Elijah had recovered physically but his mental state was far from all right. It would take time, bereavement took time, everybody said so - and Dom was heartily sick of hearing everybody saying so. He knew it took time, god dammit, but knowing didn't make it any easier to bear.

Sometimes Elijah seemed fine; pottering about, enjoying the little things of life like eating and playing cards; at other times he'd be reserved, like he was holding a big sign up saying `back off'. He went through hours when he wouldn't talk at all, ignoring questions entirely or merely shaking or nodding his head as appropriate.

The worst times were when he'd goad his friends, consciously wind them up. They could see the calculating look in his eyes as he deliberately spilt his drink on the floor or tripped someone up. It was difficult to keep a rein on your temper when he railed and swore at you for half an hour at a time or coldly condemned you for all your own failed choices. He seemed to have an unerring talent for zeroing in on your weaknesses: with Viggo it was his treachery at the breaking of the fellowship, with Ian allowing the Balrog to kill him so he could get out of the rest of the quest. With Billy, and this was where it got nasty, it was the opinion that Billy had enjoyed what the orc did to him. Elijah would say these things and watch closely for his friends' reactions. Ian said he was testing their loyalty, that it was his way of checking to see if they were going to abandon him. It didn't make it any easier though.

He never talked about Sean or the quest or the Ring.

 

One afternoon Billy returned from a morning on duty (and avoiding Beregond like he had the plague; the man was determined to be his friend) to find Dom pacing the garden in an agitated sort of fashion.

"You okay?"

"No, I want to get pissed out of my brains so I don't have to deal with all this crap." Dom shoved his hands through his hair, kicked out at an offending tree. "Fuck!"

"Yeah." That just about summed it up.

"You know, I just don't know how to help him!" Dom gave the tree another kick, paced about for a few minutes swearing and mumbling incoherently. Billy sat on the grass out of the way. "I just don't know whrere to start. He's so hurting. What the hell do I know about trauma? When I think of what he's been through and how it's still affecting him, I just feel so fucking useless!"

"I know. Me too. Just don't offer him sex, okay." Billy was smiling, trying to lighten the mood; Dom glared at him and lapsed into more swearing.

"I feel like I'm walking on eggshells with him - and I hate that, it's so unnatural. But what am I supposed to do? Make him talk? Force him to confront his issues or let him stew? Ignore his outbursts patiently or tell him he's acting like a baby?" Dom let out a howl of frustration and again ran his hands through his dishevelled curls. He looked like he'd been dragged through a hedge.

"None of us know, Dom. We're making this up as we go along. All we can do is our best - stick with him, prove to him we love him and he cannae drive us away."

"But it hurts so much!" Dom had never felt like this. He'd lived his life untouched by tragedy, naturally buoyant and optimistic, a little selfish with a bit of an attitude of Look After Number One. Being mired in Middle Earth had released emotions he'd never experienced before and they frightened and humbled him.

Billy caught Dom in a savage hug, made him stop pacing. "I know. I miss Seanie too. So much. Let it go, baby."

"Fuck." Dom buried his head in Billy's chest. "And what he said about the orc to you, that was bang out of order. I wanted to punch his lights out."

Billy could feel the wetness seeping through his shirt. He rocked Dom gently. "He didn't mean it, mate."

Dom lifted his head. His eyes were full of tears and he looked very vulnerable. "You've never really talked about it, you know. Perhaps you should."

"I know." Billy avoided his friend's searching gaze. "I kind of shoved it on a back burner. I thought I could deal with it when the quest was over - either that or I'd be able to forget it ever happened. But the quest is over and I still don't want to deal. Not yet. Let's just change the subject, eh?"

"Okay." There was a maturity in Dom's eyes that hadn't been there previously. "Everything's in limbo, isn't it? Like we're all waiting to get home. But all we're really doing is running away. All we're doing is postponing the time when we fall apart."

Billy kissed his head, drew it back against his chest. "It'll get easier. It's got to."

 

Orlando walked the garden feeling like a trapped beast in a gilded cage. Gondor was beautiful but there weren't enough wild places, everything was tamed, humanised. After so many months of walking the green earth, being imprisoned in a city of stone and domestic gardens
was suffocating.

Orlando's thoughts returned as they did regularly these days to Beanie. Middle Earth had become like a fading dream to him as his own beloved world beckoned. He needed Seanie with all his heart and soul. Part of Sean's charm was the contrast between hard and tender. Orlando loved the feel of his hard muscles, the masculine scent but he also loved how gentle those big hands were on his body, how soft his rough accent sounded when he whispered endearments to him.

He thought again about Viggo and his decision to tell him it was over. The aftermath of the quest had sent any such thoughts from his head. They needed each other and Viggo had been the only thing keeping him going a lot of the time. It seemed unfair or even hypocritical to dump him now when for the last few days they had drawn so much closer together because of their shared loss. And yet, the guilt was eating Orlando away and he didn't think he could keep fighting it as well as everything else.

He found Viggo poring over some scrolls in the living room by the window where the sunlight streamed in. He looked bored as hell.

"Are kings supposed to do their own paperwork?" he asked lightly.

"Probably not but they keep giving it me anyway." Viggo indicated a particularly long scroll. "This is an inventory of taxes for the last year. Imrahil says I can examine the returns for the last 200 years at my convenience. I think I'm going to go slightly mad." He met Orlando's gaze, read the agitation instantly. "What's the matter?"

"I was just thinking - we'll be going home soon."

"So?"

"Things will be different. I mean, it'll be strange." He trailed off uneasily.

The Dane searched his gaze. "I asked `what's wrong?'"

Orlando grabbed Viggo's hand hard, his lips trembling. Viggo wrapped an arm round him.

"It's okay, Orli. What is it?"

"I can't do this anymore!"

Vig stroked his soft blond hair, gentled him. "Lij will be okay. We'll get him through it. Don't lose hope."

"Not Lij. Us." Miserably.

Realisation dawned then and Viggo slowly removed his hand from the elf.

"I see."

Orlando captured his hand again, held it tightly. "Please, Vig, this is horrible. I never meant it to go like this. I care about you so much but I love Seanie. I don't want you to hate me! I hate myself already!" He finished his outburst with a soft whisper, "I never wanted to hurt you."

It was ironic really, Viggo thought, remembering their last night together on the boat and his own resolution to fight for Orlando - and all along Orli was drifting away from him, back into the arms of Sean Bean.

"I know, Orli. It's all right." He tried to be magnanimous in defeat, to be all mature, but it hurt so very much - especially on top of everything else. "We never made any promises to each other. We both knew it wouldn't last."

"I don't want to lose you."

Orlando was trying to be kind. If he didn't stop him, he was going to say `We can still be friends' or something equally trite and patronising. The problem was Orlando meant it sincerely and Viggo knew it. It was so difficult being angry with him.

"You won't lose me. I promise." He wanted to stay, wanted to prove to Orlando that he wasn't hurt but he couldn't. He had to get away from the elf's compassion and guilt. He gathered up his papers, refusing to look at him.

"I'll see you later." So saying he extracted his hands from the elf and strode for the door. He pretended not to hear the elf call his name, pretended to be deaf too to the broken sob that followed it.

 

Viggo looked in the looking glass - they didn't call them mirrors in Middle Earth - and thought he should feel something more than relief that this reality would soon be over. He tugged at the collar of his kingly doublet and wished he could change back into his weather stained breeches and rough tunic which didn't itch like the devil himself. His reflection looked back at him and Viggo was caught by the worn quality in the reflected eyes.

"Are you ready?" he asked himself unnecessarily. He walked to where his horse was waiting for him in the courtyard. That was one plus to being a king, you didn't have to saddle your own horse. Halbarad and the sons of Elrond were already mounted.

He was on his way to escort Elrond's Party the last few leagues to Minas Tirith. He had already taken leave of the rest of the fellowship who were staying with Elijah. It felt unnatural leaving the Hobbit, like he was deserting him.

Viggo slid his finger under the collar again and wondered if his tailor was a sadist. He caught Halbarad's amused look and resolutely removed his fingers. He felt rather like a noble prisoner going to the block; being conducted with all due pomp but still no way out. He'd see his True Love in a matter of minutes and he had no idea what to do: shake hands with her warmly, kiss her til she swooned?

"Over there," Aladdin said - must stop calling him that - pointing to a spot of greenish brown in the distance which looked like all the other greenish brown spots to Viggo. Then on the wind came the sound of tinkling bells and amazingly beautiful elven voices raised in song. His insides turned to jelly - he'd forgotten just how perfect elven singing was: superbly harmonised like the best choir on earth yet with a depth of sorrow which twisted in your heart. He thought of Sean and had to close his eyes.

He could see the procession now like they were backlit by some impressive light. Elrond rode at the head on a white horse with Galadriel and Celeborn behind. Viggo hardly noticed them for his eyes were fixed on Arwen.

Arwen Undomiel, the greatest flower of all elvendom. Beautiful didn't begin to describe this graceful otherworldly creature.

"Aragorn, my beloved," she said. "Ellesar, beyond all hope, you are returned to me."

Now he understood Aragorn's doom. He wasn't in love with her but, after Orlando's revelation, he found himself sinking to his knees, kissing her hand anyway.

 

He remembered filming the Bridge scene in Rivendell with Liv. Orlando had made fun of them but he had found it profoundly moving and real. It was like he had stepped into the book and it was at that moment that he had really come to understand his character. Here in Middle Earth, he hadn't given Arwen much thought. She belonged to the real Aragorn and anyway she only appeared right at the end of the quest which, while he was in the thick of things, had always seemed so far off.

Now he felt captivated by her. He wasn't in love with her but he could easily convince himself he was - if only to make himself feel wanted and nurtured by somebody. He told himself sternly that his current feelings were a rebound thing, a natural reaction to Orlando dumping him, but he chose to ignore himself. He was heart sick, weary after months of dreadful toil followed by the aftermath of Sean's death and Lij's breakdown. There was so little hope in his heart and so little faith that it would get better.

He found Arwen waiting for him as he left the council chamber after a long day of boring meetings. He bowed to her and, unspeaking, they mounted their horses and rode out of the city. They found an unspoilt spot where trees grew and the scent was heady with wildflowers. The sun caught her lush hair turning it a rich mahogany.

"Aniron," Aragorn had said in the film and Viggo heard himself echoing his character's words. Arwen walked beside him, innately graceful and Viggo remembered with a twinge that that was what he had thought of Orlando. She reminded him of his friend; the delicate ears, the air of knowing. But there was a depth of sorrow and wisdom bought at a cost in her eyes.

"What troubles you, my heart?"

"I grieve for the friend I lost and the friend who was returned to me," he replied.

"I share your grief. Yet hope remains that he will find healing."

Oh yeah, Viggo thought bitterly, what chance of healing does he have in New Zealand?

"What else troubles you? I see it in your eyes." She pressed her hand against his chest and Viggo experienced the shock all humans feel at the otherworldly touch of the Eldar. He rested his own hand over hers, met her gaze. She smiled at him, so giving and warm, a rock to lean against. He kissed her gently and had to close his eyes at the intensity of such a contact as she
leaned against him, submitted to him.

In that moment Viggo knew what he wanted to do: stay here in Middle Earth, claim his fate with this alien creature who set him on fire. There was nothing on earth waiting for him. A character in a film - which paled into insignificance compared to being that character - and a lifetime of loneliness away from Orlando.

Here, on the other hand, he had the unconditional love of a woman who had given up her immortality for him. He knew it was wrong but he drew her down onto the sweet grass anyway and made love to Arwen Undomiel while the star which bore her name shone brightly above them.

 

It had become the custom for the fellowship to gather in the living room in the early evenings. In some ways it was painful seeing the knowledge you carried in your own heart reflected in the eyes of your friends. In other ways it was pleasant knowing your friends shared your pains, understood what you had been through.

Ian was smoking his pipe, sending his smoke rings multicoloured to amuse the Hobbits. Viggo sat as far as he could from Orlando without making it obvious; he knew it didn't work because he could see the anguish in the elf's eyes and that made it all the harder. Dom and Billy sat on either side of Elijah, the three Hobbits together, and all of them tried to resist counting Hobbit heads in the hope of there being four. Elijah was quiet tonight but not aloof. He allowed Dom to hold his hand and even managed to smile on cue at some of Orli's jokes. They were all trying too hard, him as well, but at least they were together.

They fell to discussing the Portal, their gateway home. Elijah remembered how important it had seemed in the twilight sorrow of Lothlorien to find out about the portal. Now in the twilight of a different kind of sorrow it didn't seem to matter at all. He looked round at the men who had saved his life, who had risked their own lives time and again for him and he felt them slipping away from him like sand through a sieve.

"So I know we haven't discussed this but exactly how do we activate the Portal?" Viggo asked.

"Abracadabra," suggested Orlando too brightly. "Open sesame?"

"I discussed the matter with Elrond and Galadriel," Ian said, "it appears we have been mistaken. We do not `activate' it. When we have fulfilled our mission, the Portal will be activated by the Valar who will send us home. Our participation is passive."

"Great. So once again we are at the beck and call of the gods. Is it just me or is anyone else getting tired of the `Heel, Rover' mentality going on here?" Dom said.

Elijah let his gaze slip away from his friends to a contemplation of the fire. He felt numb inside but determined. It wouldn't be long now. A few more days then he could rest.

"You said when we have fulfilled our mission, Ian," Viggo said and the wizard smiled at the king's astuteness. "The quest is achieved - what more do they want?"

"Apparently we still have choices to make - and before you ask Orli, I don't know what those choices are," Ian said with a touch of Gandalf's irritability.

"I just want to go home, Ian," Orlando said wistfully - and didn't look at Viggo. "I miss Beanie so much."

"I cannae wait," Billy said with more enthusiasm than necessary.

Everyone was trying too hard still.

"And the first thing I'm going to do is drive - drive mind - to the pub and get sloshed."

"Good call, mate," Dom said. He could almost taste the foamy beer as it trickled cold down his throat.

"So you want to go home?" Viggo asked, surprising all of them. Elijah flickered him a glance. "I mean, it's set in stone that we have to return?"

The Dane thought back to last night when he had laid with Arwen. It would be so easy to stay here, hide from the future he didn't want to face on earth but Arwen loved someone else and for all his despair he could not let her give up her immortality for a sham marriage. It appeared the sacrifices were still being made.

"Well, I for one am definitely going," Billy said, again filling in the uncomfortable silence. "Though I would have liked to see Hobbiton and Rivendell, I certainly don't want to be stuck in this reality where there are no bloody aspirins and it takes half an hour to make a cup of tea."

Ian let out a particularly magnificent smoke ring, it glided to the ceiling where (for he was showing off) it fragmented into tiny birds which flew out of the window singing.

"What about you Elijah," he asked, "what are you looking forward to upon our return?" The Hobbit seemed to pull himself back from a dark place. His eyes were very blue, very clear.

"Nothing. What is there to look forward to?"

 

The garden was filled with glorious colour as the late evening sun streamed through the trees. The fellowship filed down to the pyre in solemn procession, Ian walking with Elijah, Orlando and Viggo, Dom and Billy. Sean's body, covered in sweet herbs and oil, lay on the pyre. He looked at peace.

There was a pause. It was so difficult to do this thing, let go finally of their friend. Orlando picked a blood red rose, kissed it and gently laid it over Sean's heart.

"I love you, Sean. Elbereth give you rest." Tears gleamed in his eyes as he kissed the icy cheek. It took him a long time to finally pull away.

Viggo unrolled the charcoal drawing he'd been working on. The fellowship gathered round to see. There they all were beneath the mallorn trees of Lothlorien: Viggo with Anduril, Dom and Billy holding hands and laughing, Ian with his staff blazing, Sean Bean stood behind Orlando, his arms round the elf's shoulders, and at the front, looking directly at the viewer, Elijah held tightly in the arms of Sean.

Billy began to cry and Dom hugged him hard.

"It's beautiful Vig," Elijah said and meant it.

Viggo regarded the picture for a moment then he slowly walked over to Sean, placed it with Orlando's rose twisted round it over Sean's heart.

"At the going down of the sun and in the morning we will remember you," he said simply. He held Sean's head in both hands, kissed the Hobbit's forehead.

Billy and Dom walked forward.

"We don't have anything like Vig's picture to give you, mate. Only this tankard in memory of all the pints we shared." Dom kissed Sean gently.

"Aye. And in memory of all the pints we won't. Rest in peace, Sean, we love you."

Ian's eyes glittered with tears, the first public tears he'd shed.

"Dear boy, my dear Sean, you once told me you could listen to my voice all week reciting poetry. This one's for you with all my heart:

`The day is no more, the shadow is upon the earth.
It is time for me to leave this place.
There are no passers by to see me go.
All I hear is the sad music of the water,
It calls me into the gathering dusk.
I know not if I will come back home.
I know not if I will see your face.
All I ask of you is this...
That you sometime think of me......'

I'll always think of you, dear boy."

"Lij?"

And Elijah stood there, unable to move. Eventually just as he'd dragged himself through the Desolation of Mordor, he managed to approach the pyre.

"I remember," he said very quietly, "how I used to kiss your eye lids like this." He kissed the still lids. "How your lips felt on mine, so soft and warm. I remember our first kiss, Seanie, in Lothlorien." He kissed the cold lips tenderly. "I remember how gentle your hands were on my body and how you covered me - there - when we made love." He kissed the hands. "I remember how it felt being one with you, your body in mine." He kissed the middle of his chest. "And I remember your heart beating slow and steady under my head, calming me." He kissed him over the heart." Swallowed hard against the pain in his throat. "And I remember the crown you made for me. Of elanor." He held out the crown he had plaited for Sean, the dainty flowers seemed to glow amber and gold. Tenderly he lifted his lover's head, placed the wreath on the familiar sandy curls.

"`And in a fading crown have twined the golden elanor.'"

He felt blindly for Ian's hand, felt the old man squeeze it tightly.
It was too much.

"I can't say goodbye, Seanie, cos I love you too much."

The tears were falling now, his breath gasping as he tried to get the words out without sobbing.

"I can't! Ian, I can't! I need him. I need him so much. It's not fair. Please, Elbereth, help me!"

"You have to let him go now, dear heart. Say goodbye."

Elijah pulled away to stare again at his lover's face. He couldn't imagine never seeing that face again. He kissed him gently.

"I love you. I will always love you, Seanie."

Ian handed him his staff, and Elijah kindled the faggots of wood. He stepped back from the pyre, tears streaming down his face. He could hear Orli singing his gift, an elven lament, and he screamed at the top of his voice, "I love you!" as the air filled with the pungent aromas of spices. There was a blinding flash suddenly. When they could see again, the pyre burned but Sean's body was missing.

 

The others wanted to stay with him but Elijah needed some time to himself so they retired to the living room. Ian seemed lost in thought but refused to say whether he understood the significance of the pyre or not, got quite crotchety and Gandalf about it.

Elijah stayed by the pyre until it was nothing but ash. The pain in his heart hadn't lessened, it had increased but his resolve of earlier had strengthened. He'd been waiting for today, willing his shattered soul to endure just one more minute, one more hour, one more day until this moment. He had said goodbye to Sean, there was nothing left to strive for.

He crept on Hobbit feet into the kitchen and picked a particularly sharp knife. He was surprised his friends hadn't locked all the sharp objects away like they had the breakable china and ornaments. He returned to the garden, wanting to stay as close to Sean as it was possible to be.

He had written his friends a letter and, given time, they would understand and move on. They'd grieve for him and Sean but ultimately their lives would flow on and their time in Middle Earth, which had cost him and Sean their lives, would fade into a dream half remembered. He remembered how the memory of his mom and sister had kept him alive in Cirith Ungol but he couldn't see them now. They weren't important. The only thing that was important was Sean's death and ending the pain.

Elijah lifted the blade, captivated by the silver light shining off its edge. He bared his wrist. A few more minutes and it would all be over.

It was strange how the mind worked; Elijah found himself recalling the words from the song `In Dreams' which Sean had taught him in Lothlorien. Elijah had never heard the song on earth but it seemed to him as he stared at the blade, he could hear whispering elven voices rising in harmony. The words seemed appropriate somehow:

`In the veiling of the sun, we will walk in bitter rain.'

Sean and he had walked the darkest road, in the bitterest of rain.

`But in dreams,' the song continued, `I still hear your name. And in dreams, we will meet again.'

It was true his sleeping and waking dreams were filled with a howling voice wailing Sean's name. Perhaps in the dream of death, they would meet again. He touched the blade to his wrist, began to press ....

Viggo was running his hands through his hair. "I'm telling you Ian, he's gonna do something stupid. Someone should be with him."

"No. Leave him alone. Don't you see yet? Elijah has a choice to make. We can't interfere."

"A choice - to kill himself? You're gonna stand there and do nothing - "

"Oh I'm doing something, my dear fellow, I'm praying. Very hard. I know how you feel. I'm concerned too. But we have to allow him to confront his choice. If he fails," Ian took a deep breath; it was a real struggle to keep calm, "then maybe - maybe, mark you my dear Viggo - we should intervene. But he has to face that choice alone."

Please, Elbereth, let him choose life.

 

It was harder than he expected. He just wanted peace! It hurt so much. He could still hear the Ring, for all that it was destroyed, singing in his mind and he could feel the orc inside him, coming to its filthy completion. It hurt to summon up the energy to walk and talk and think. It hurt to summon up the energy to breathe. He pressed the blade to his wrist again, felt it bite slightly. A touch more pressure was all that was needed.

An image of Sean came to his mind, Sean who had saved him from death once before. But it was all right for Sean, he was past hurt and suffering now. Elijah knew his lover wouldn't want him to throw his life away but the pain was never ending! He'd feel like this every day for the rest of his life. There would be no healing, no surcease of torment.

"Elbereth!" he screamed, "Help me!"

A faint light seemed to kindle as if from the very stars. Elijah watched transfixed as the glow flared into a bright silver light which bathed the whole garden and dazzled him. There was warmth in that glow, healing.

"Help me," he said again, a soul in torment.

/Elijah Wood/

It wasn't a physical voice, rather an impression in his mind like telepathy. It seemed to chase away the taint of darkness. He stood up, small and vulnerable.

/Know that Sean's death was necessary. It was his choice freely given and by that gift, came grace./

"I can't carry on!"

Images darted through his mind illuminated in silver: Tall ships sailing gracefully towards a land where there was peace and where beauty was untouched by the hand of Sauron. He could hear elves singing and it seemed there was no longer sorrow in their voices, only a great joy and contentment.

/The Third Age draws to an end but you will find the healing you crave in Valinor beneath the stars of Ever-eve. Would you share the doom of the elves?/

He thought about the white ship that would conduct him far from this world of pain and toil to an uncorrupted world. And he thought of all the years he would have to endure on earth, alone and broken, denied his lover's kisses.

"Willingly."

/For I offer you a choice, Elijah. Seek the Grey Havens, there to cast off your cares for the natural span of your life. Or surrender your place on the white ship for the one who holds your heart./

"The only person I love is Sean and he's dead!"

/But his death was not foretold./

The light seemed to spiral and whirl into a glittering pattern of opal and silver. Elijah, through his tears, could see an image coalescing, distant and ethereal like a dream: Sean's body suspended in the air as it had been at the moment it disappeared from the pyre. His soul ached as he saw the image swirl into focus - Sean's heart was starting to beat.

He remembered the rest of the song now and it seemed to him Sean was summoning him, calling him back.

`In the dark I hear a call, calling me there...'

"You'll bring him back to life? Sean? Sean Astin?"

/If that is your choice. But know the sacrifice you are making. You will never know the peace of Valinor, you will have to suffer the mortal world where there can be no healing of your wounds. Know also that Sean may not have full memory of this place./

`I will go there and back again.'

"I have made my choice," he vowed with all his heart, "I choose Sean."

/The Choice has been made. Let it be so/

And the silver light flared brilliant white until it blinded him. He was floating in a sea of white nothingness, spinning gently. He thought he could still hear elven voices singing. The light dazzled, glimmered then finally died. He opened his eyes.

They were Home.