Forever Mine, Forever Young

**This is a revised verison of this chapter!! I hope it clarifies some issues :-) Let me know if it's still confusing**
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Ruataari, Leannan and Aggie- Thank you all for your feedback and your enthusiasm!

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Though my many faults defaced me,
Could no other arm be found,
Than the one which once embraced me,
To inflict a cureless wound?
Byron, “Fare Thee Well”

Chapter 3.

Viggo was confident when he woke that everything would be fine. The evening had gone perfectly, beautifully even, and surely it had healed whatever was ailing his lover.

Instead, he found Orli fully alert and sitting on the edge the bed with a wary look on his face.

“Where’s Sean?” Viggo asked, before considering that that might not have been the smartest thing to ask.

“I asked him to leave,” Orli replied. “He didn’t belong here.”

*Shit,* Viggo thought, sitting up. That didn’t sound good. “What d’you mean, angel? Are you . . .upset about what happened?” His question was tentative. He didn’t really want an answer.

“No. Not upset.” Orli shrugged. “It was--” He got up and walked restlessly to the window, “interesting,” he finished. “But, Vig, I want you to know that I have *never*, and will never, want anyone but you.”

Viggo stayed in the bed, considering fleetingly how he could capture Orli’s face, half in shadow, half in light and lined with stress, on canvas. “I know, Orli.” He sighed and lay back. “Last night wasn’t about tempting you. It was about gifting you with something I thought you wanted. Because I trust you. You know that.”

Orli flinched almost imperceptibly when Viggo said ‘trust‘, and Viggo chose to ignore it.

~*~

Later that day, despite Orli’s best efforts, Sean found and cornered him when Peter called lunch.

Sean was almost done with his principle filming, and he was due to leave sometime in the next week. Orli had desperately hoped he wouldn’t run into him in the mean time.

The older man presented him with a wildflower that he had picked, and smiled genially at him. “I think we need to talk, Orli,” was all he said.

“Why?”

“Because you don’t seem to be o.k. with what happened, are you mate?” Sean moved closer to him and he could hear Boromir’s armor creaking.

“I’m fine,” he snapped, intending to end the awkward conversation there, but curiosity got the better of him and he asked, “Didn’t it bother you?”

Sean chuckled, but answered honestly, “At first, maybe. But not after I realized that it was just acting--that I was just playing a part.” He paused. “Playing a part for you.”

Orli didn’t say anything. This was exactly why he hadn’t wanted to talk to Sean. The older man saw too much.

But Sean wasn’t going to let it rest. He shifted closer, to keep their conversation confidential, and put a hand on Orli’s chin, turning him so he was had to meet Sean’s green eyes. “Have you always needed that, Orli? Needed the punishment?” rli rli jerked his head away. He wasn’t listening; he couldn’t.

“How far would you have wanted me to go?” Sean continued relentlessly, “What can’t Viggo give you?” He was too, too close to Orli, and Orli couldn’t see anything but Boromir’s leather clad arm braced in front of him, preventing his escape. “Would you have wanted me to hurt you, Orli? Made you bleed?”

He stood sock still, paralyzed by Sean’s words, unable to breathe. Damn the man.

Goddamn him.

Sean backed away a little, sensing his tension. “Has it been like this always, Orli? Or is this new? Is it something you need to expiate some sin you believe you’ve committed?”

A sin. *Yes,* Orli thought. *I sinned; I lost faith. But Viggo can’t ever know.* The fact fact that Sean knew, though, knew that he’d done something, and was involved in something that he couldn’t handle, made him furious.

“Fuck you, Sean. You don‘t know me.” He had finally found words, but they were woefully inadequate.

And they revealed more than he intended, for Sean backed away from him frowning as he spoke, “God, Orli, what have you done?”

~*~

That was the question.

And even for Orli, there wasn’t an easy answer.

The question plagued all three men to varying degrees for the rest of the week. Orli continued to deny that there was anything wrong; Viggo convinced himself that *whatever* it was, he wouldn’t let it ruin their relationship, and Sean just prayed that when the brittle calm broke, he was still there to pick up the pieces.

By the end of the week, with Sean’s departure looming, Viggo and Orli had stopped having sex altogether. Orli’s tastes in sex had always been different from Viggo’s, but at the moment, neither of them could seem to find satisfaction in the other. No matter how painful Sean’s comments had been, he had been right. Right now Viggo couldn’t give Orli what he needed, and for Orli to ask for it, only made Viggo uncomfortable.

So, when Elijah suggested a camping trip over the weekend, Viggo encouraged Orli to go and leave him at home. Alone.

Orli was suspicious of Viggo’s motives for staying behind, and the conversation surrounding that decision became cliché and ugly, with hurtful, bitter accusation flying from both men.

It was hot, which didn’t ease their tempers any, and as Viggo stood stolidly by the kitchen window, iced tea in hand, he began to tune out Orli‘s hysterics.

“You want space, or something, don’t you? That’s why you don’t want to go.” Orli’s face was flushed and his voice was cracking with anger.

“I think we need to spent a little time apart, yeah, but it’s not a space issue. I just think that you need to get away with just your friends.” The glass was slippery in Viggo’ip, ip, like Orli, like their relationship. Slippery and easily shattered.

“All I need is you.”

Viggo sighed and put the glass down carefully. “You always say that, Orli, like you’re trying to convince yourself that it’s true.” He looked away from the boy and down into the chipped porcelain sink. “Anyway, it’s not right.” He held up a hand when he saw Orli about to start yelling again. “You need your friends, you need your family, you need your work, and you need to play. And,” he picked up the glass again, “I don’t want to be the center of your life.”

Orli was silent, sullen.

“I want you to go and have a good time, be a kid, whatever. Stop worrying, for chrissake. And when you get back I want you to tell me what’s got you so worked up.I need you to tell me what‘s wrong.” Viggo dumped his tea and leaned back against the counter, letting the edge bite into his hip. He was angry now too, and he was about to say something that would probably regret.

“Because right now, I don’t think you trust me.”

“What? Why?” Orli asked, digging for a cigarette.

“You won’t tao meo me, ergo, you don’t trust me to be able to deal with whatever’s bothering you. Or, you just don’t trust me enough to stand by you. I can handle just about anything, love. And I’m willing to go to hell and back for you,” he moved close enough to touch Orli’s shoulder, “if you ask me to.”

Orli backed away. He loved Viggo. More than was healthy kne knew, but he didn’t believe him. This secret had to stay a secret, because if the older man ever found out, well, he couldn't think about that.

He took a deep, satisfying drag on the cigarette, unmindful of the fact that he was in Viggo’s kitchen where he was *never* allowed to smoke, and exhaled toward the ceiling. “I trust you. We’ll talk when I get back.” He gave Viggo a smoky peck on the cheek and wandered into the living room.

Viggo knew that Orli had capitulated too easily, but he wasn’t up for fighting anymore either. And he wasn’t one to issue ultimatums. If Orli wanted to talk when he got back, they would talk. Otherwise, well, someone was going to have to give eventually, and Viggo suspected that it would be him. He was too old, and too experienced to want to expend any more energy on a failing relationship, especially when the other person was unwilling to trust him with their problems.

~*~

The house was quiet with Orli gone. It was . . . pleasant. It gave Viggo time to write and time to paint. He was working on one particular piece of Orli perched on the deck railing at sunset with *the* scarf tied around his head. He was shirtless and shoeless, and laughing. But what Viggo wanted to capture was the pain under the smile. Sean had pointed it out, and Viggo had to admit that Orli hurting was beautiful.

He tried not to dwell too much on the question of what was causing Orli’s pain. Because, somehow, just somehow, he knew that despite his protestations to the opposite, it might be something that he didn’t want to deal with.

It turned out that he didn’t have to wait for Orli to come back to find out.

Sometime that night there was a knock at Viggo’s door. He didn’t wonder who it was. He sensed, in the way that happens sometimes, that this was it. The key to Orli’s problem, and the beginning of his own.

He opened the door to a young woman, a very young, dark haired woman who introduced herself as Nadia and asked for Orlando. She had an accent that Viggo placed as Russian, and a tired, determined look on her face.

“He’s not here,” was all he could say.

She slumped, and looked dejectedly at her bags. “It’s important that I see him . . .” Her voice trailed off as she looked back down the dark road. There was no traffic. “Where should I go?” She asked, mostly to herself.

Annoyed at himself, and fiercely angry with Orli, Viggo picked up her bags and motioned her inside. “You’ll stay here.” Whatever business she had with Orli, she could deal with him as well.

She nodded and followed him in, looking around her as she went. “You and Orlando, you are castmates, and roommates?”

“We work and live together, yes,” Viggo answered, not offering anything further. And she didn’t ask.

He pointed to the couch. “You can sleep there.” She nodded. “The bathroom’s down the hall.” Another nod. “We’ll talk in the morning, and Orli will be back tomorrow evening.”

For the first time since he opened the door, she showed a little life, narrowing her eyes and glaring half-heartedly. “I appreciate having a place to sleep tonight, but I will only speak to Orlando.”

“Whatever,” he shrugged. They would talk whether she wanted to or not.

~*~

Viggo didn’t expect to get any more sleep that night, and he didn’t. Therefore, he was lying awake in his room at dawn when he heard the bathroom doorse. se. Minutes later, as he walked past on his way to the kitchen, he heard the unexpected, horrifying sounds of somebody retching violently into the toilet.

He knew what that meant. He’d been here before.

You only need to hear the sounds of a woman plagued with morning sickness once. It’s not something you easily forget.

And everything fell into place. His partener’s sudden neediness, and his sudden, fierce avowals of love. Viggo had said earlier that Orli sounded like he was trying to convince himself that Viggo was all he needed, and it had been true. Because Orli had strayed from him, and betrayed thier love, he had become desperate to prove that his feelings were unchanged. That his life was unchanged.

But it *was* changed, irrevocably. And there was no going back.

“Orli . . .” He murmured, something between a prayer and a curse. “Why?”

And so he stood, with his eyes shut tight against tears, listening, listening to his life fall apart.

He stood tired, angry and alone. Heartbroken.

TBC (soon)