The Last Place On Earth

Author: Kerry ~Aja
Pairing: ViggOrli, Harry/Orli
Series: Last Place On Earth
Rating: R
Summary: Springtime in Venice.
For Notes and warnings, see part one or two.
Disclaimer: Totally made up. All of it's lies.


ACTIONS


Harry had picked up a pack of foil pie cases. He used these as ces ces for the fat candles he'd bought, melting a little of the wax into the base of each to hold the candles steady. Orlando watched e ple placed them around the room. He was hungry, and whatever Harry had brought to eat, smelled really good. He had already drained a quarter of the water from a two-litre bottle to try and distract himself. Harry finally placed the last candle and picked up the bag of food. Orlando moved further across the bed so that Harry could sit more comfortabHe pHe poked at one of the grease-stained sacks.

"What is it?"

"Burgers. Because the nearest place I could find serving food was a MacDonald's." Harry pried the top of the sack open. He stopped abruptly at the sound Orlando made. "What's wrong?"

Orlando smiled. "I.. I don't really eat meat. Don't those places do chips?"

"French fries, yeah." Harry grinned, holding up the second sack. Orlando's stomach rumbled at the smell coming off it. "You're welcome to them," Harry said, handing the bag over. "I got donuts, too. I'm guessing you don't get stuff like this too often."

Orlando shrugged. "I eat what I can. It's not too hard to find food in a place like Cairo." He opened the bag and propped it between his knees, legs stretched out in front of him. He took a french fry from the bag and held it up, sniffing it indulgently. Leaning back against the pillows, he popped it into his mouth and chewed, ma dee deeply satisfied sounds as he swallowed. "That.. was good," he declared, reaching for another. "Thankyou for this, Harry. You didn't have to go to all this trouble."

"Well, honestly? I it it for entirely selfish reasons. I want to hear the rest of your story."

Orlando laughed. Harry shifted, kicking off his shoes so that he, too, could stretch his legs out along the bed. He sat at the opposite end to Orlando, pulling the rings of onion out of his burger. "Hates sts stuff," he explained, letting one of the sticky rings drop from his finger into the bag. He licked the sauce from his nail and groaned, realizing just how hungry he was. After a couple of mouthfuls, eaten in comfortable silence, Harry lowered the burger and spoke.

"So, was it always just him and you? Every life you lived after that one, was it just him?"

Orlando looked at Harry for a few moments, trying to work out what he was asking. He swallowed, rstarstanding. "Ah. You mean, did I ever love anybody apart from him? No, I didn't. Our hearts and souls were always destined for each other, right from birth. I had affairs, yes. There were times when it was necessary. And times when I actually wanted to sleep with somebody else. But it would never be more than that."

"Necessary?" Harry asked. "How do you mean?"

"Did you know you smell like a Venetian spring?" Orlando said. "I don't know what it is, but you do. You remind me of springtime in Venice. I was born in the spring."

Harry looked down at himself, as if he expected to see some outward sign of the scent Orlando had described. All he could smell was fast food and burning wax.

"A little more than three thousand years after I died in that tomb, I was born to a family of noble Italian blood. The middle of March, and it had rained during the night. It left that smell in the air of freshness. New beginnings. Isn't that what spring is all about?" Orlando paused, taking another fry from the bag. "My parents knew right away that I was the odd child. The last in a line of five brothers, unexpected but welcomed. At first."

"At first? What happened?"

"When I didn't cry, they thought it was because I was ill. But it was because I couldn't. Never would be able to cry out loud. I was born a mute, and you'd think that a child who couldn't scream or throw loud tantrums would be a blessing to its mother."

Harry let out a low chuckle, nodding at Orlando's words. "I suppose so."

"Well, it wasn't lthatthat. I was seen as some kind of punishment from God, for sins past. My mother would have nothing to do with me, so I was raised by the servants. Nobody dared to give me a name. I was just known as the mute, the boy. Even into adulthood, they called me Boy. I watched my brothers receiving lessons, I watched them court, and I watched them marry off, one by one. I spent all of my time with the servants. When they went to Church, I was locked into my room. My mother would hang the key outside my door, and when one of my brother's wives asked why, she would say 'What good is a mute at Church? He cannot praise God aloud.' So I would be left at home to say my prayers in my head and make soundless confessions to the walls. It was that same woman, the bride of my brother, who would set me free. She formed an alliance with one of the servants, a young lad who would unlock my door while the family were out at Church. He risked everything to do this for me, but he was never caught. He would lock me back in minutes before my Mother returned.

Maria, my brother's wife, gave me some books, but I'd never been taught to read. So, she took it upon herself to find me a tutor. Before he was found, my first few tastes of real freedom in the house were spent doing things I should have done as a boy. Running around the house, frightening the poor servant girls, the ones who were too lowly to attend Church with my Mother. I knew they wouldn't tell her because they were loyal to me; they were like my real family. They looked after me, and I was taught to bake bread and make cheese, so that I wasn't idle.

My inquisitive hands got everywhere. Into the pantry, led led in horse's manes, and up the skirt of a young maid. She was beautiful. Theresa, her name was. Incredible skin, big brown eyes. I didn't know why, and I couldn't ask, but I knew she spent a lot of time crying. I found her in the stables one day, huddled in the hay. Her hair had fallen loose, and I was overcome.

'Why do you haunt me, Boy? Is it not enough that you are in my dreams?' she asked me.

I didn't know what she meant, but when I took her into my arms, she fell readily against me. She kissed me and undressed me, and she needed me. So I gave what I could to her. I think it made her feel better, because she didn't cry when I made her bleed. She was silent, and smiling. I felt clumsy and inexperienced, too quick to make a mess of her.

I did cry, and she held me and stroked my hair and whispered to me. She told me she loved me, and that this was alright. That God would forgive us. When I thought about it afterwards, I wondered what she thought we'd done wrong. A little over a month later, after a few more meetings in the stables, the girl just disappeared. Cook no longer spoke to me, but gave me disapproving glares whenever I went near her.

It was three months after I was first released that Maria returned for a visit. She brought her Uncle Vittorio as a chaperone, as my brother was away in Rome. I caught glimpses of him. Tall, strong, but somehow soft-looking. He looked back at me one day, and I knew."

"It was him, wasn't it? Viggo."

Orlando nodded, a smile tracing faint lines at his eyes. "Yes, it was him."

"You didn't know until he looked at you, though?" Harry wondered.

"It wasn't always so instant as the first time. Sometimes there would be a period of confusion, a feeling of familiarity and recognition that I couldn't explain. But then it would only take a certain moment.. a word, a touch, or just a look, and I would know."

"I see. So, he looked back at you, and then..?"

"Yes. I knew." Orlando scratched his knuckles again, before reaching for another french fry. "Maria asked him to come to me one day. He'd gone to Church earlier than my family, so that when they left he was free to stay at the house. He came to my door with a book in his hand and the promise of knowledge, and I was a more than willing student. I don't think he knew at first, that it was me. Of course, I couldn't tell him either. It was difficult, learning from him. There was no way I could read back to him, or let him know that I understood, so it was very much a tutorship based on trust. It changed, once I learned to write more. I could give him simple messages. One day I got up the courage to ask. I simply wrote, 'Vittorio. Do you know who I am?'

He knew. He'd been afraid he was wrong, because I hadn't done anything to tell him otherwise. He said the same thing that he had in lives before. That he cursed having to spend half of his life alone before he could even think of seeking me out. 'Why do you make me wait? Why must I wander this world in solitude for the years before you are born?' he asked me. All I could do was hold him. I wanted to tell him, I'm here now. You needn't be alone any more. I want to be with you forever, and forever is never long enough.

Maybe I would remember to answer his question in the next life. Maybe he would remember to ask it.

That night, he came to me. When all the family were asleep, when even the servants were shuffling off to get their rest, Vittorio came to my room. He found me reading, my eyes straining by the dim light of a candle. He blew out the flame and took my hands."

Orlando's eyes fluttered closed, and he wrapped his arms around himself. Harry heard him exhale a shaky breath.

"He told me a thousand times that night, that he loved me. He told me I was beautiful, that I didn't deserve the life that had been forced upon me. He told me all the things he had told me before, in other beds, in other times, in other lives, and I didn't mind hearing them again. I'll never tire of hearing them. I was frustrated to tears because I couldn't tell him the same. Not with my voice. So I told him I loved him with my mouth wrapped around him, I told him I loved him when I spilled myself into his hands. I told h lov loved him when I bit down so hard on the pillow that I swallowed a feather."

Orlando's fingers drifted to his lips, brushed against the soft skin. He shivered to the touch, and Harry shivered with him.

"Are you cold, Orlando?" he asked, whispered.

"I'm lonely. I need him, Harry. I need to hear his voice in my ear, I need him near."

"He'll find you."

"What if he doesn't?" Orlando bit his lip, letting his hand fall again to the sheets. may may never be able to tell him I love him again."

Harry pulled his legs behind him and reached forward to cradle Orlando's jaw in a large hand. He stroked his thumb over the young man's cheek. "Yes, you will. Even if you can't say it with words, he'll know. Don't you think?"

Orlando nodded, curling into Harry's arms. "I miss him. I don't like to think of him lost in the world, suffering solitude, waiting for me."

"He'll find you," Harry repeatkisskissing the soft brown curls of Orlando's hair. "Tell me what happened next.. With you and Vittorio."

Orlando nodded, not letting go of Harry. He turned his head to rest more comfortably, and continued. "I thought we would have years to spend together. But one of the servants, the maid who had replaced Theresa, had seen Vittorio going to my room. She told my Mother the very next morning, and Vittorio was asked to leave. Once again, my freedom was gone.

I heahat hat Vittorio went to live in Florence. He painted there, worked with some of the best artists of our time. He painted angels, beautiful boys with wings and dark eyes. Nobody who paints angels can be happy, can they?"

Orlando touched his lips again, the corners of them turned down.

"Vittorio did return to Venice, later, because I caught a glimpse of an old man, someone I knew. But it was too late for us both. The year of the plague had come, and we both succumbed to it. Perhaps because we were together again. Maybe it was just time."

Harry tightened his arms around the young man. He had the most compelling urge to hold him close, and not let go. He felt Orlando cling to him for a moment, before he pulled back. Tears shimmered at the corners of his eyes.

"Have you ever loved, Harry?"

Harry bit his lip, nodding uncertainly. "I had a girlfriend who-"

But Orlando cut him off. "I mean, like this. Would you have given up your body just to be with her? Was every moment without her an almost unbearable torture? Was it love from the soul?"

"I.. I.. No, it wasn't. It didn't feel like that."

"Then this is your first life. If you find that love.." Orlando smiled, reaching up to fan his fingers over Harry's cheek. "If you find it, you'll know. You'll feel it too, the same thing I felt, back in the City of Amon-Re. And you and your love will be together for eternity."

Harry's breath caught. He knew only what Orlando had told him, there was no proof, no hard evidence that he could see.. And yet, he believed. His own mind made every word that Orlando spoke, sacred. Absolute truth. It terrified him. Confused him, turned him around so fast that he felt dizzy.

"What if I don't fin?" ?" he asked, dreading the answer. Orlando's fingertips were little dots of heat on his face. Harry wanted to absorb it until that's all he was. Heat, and Orlando.

"Then you die. Alone. And you don't come back."

"I can't. I can't die alone."

"Harry. Even if you do, even if your soul is meant to leave and never come back, you'll still have had this lifetime."

"What about you? What if Viggo doesn't find you? If you die without knowing each other in this life? You're bound together, right? So, you should come back again.."

"I honestly don't know." Orlando looked out of the window. "It's getting late."

"Do you want me to leave?"

Orlando turned his gaze back to Harry. "Only if you promise to come back," was all he said.

Harry nodded. He should go back, he thought. Give Orlando a little peace. "I promise."


~continued in 'Beneath The Wisteria' (coming soon)