aleathiel

Sorry it took so long!!

Part II

“Uh, hi.”

“How are you?”

“Good. And you?”

“I’m good, too.”

Why is it so difficult to think of something to say? After all, they are friends, close friends. This is the man Orlando has called his mentor. It has only been a year since they saw each other. One short year, surely in all the time they knew each other they’d been apart for that long before? They’ve been all over the world working on separate projects.

Maybe, Orlando thinks, it was because he had closed that door in his head and now it needs oiling and it creaks as it opens slowly and unexpectedly, allowing the warm, fresh air back in.

“You should have called to say you were in London. We could have gone for a drink.” It sounds like more of an accusation than Orlando meant

“I didn’t know you were here. I thought you were working on ‘Kingdom’.”

“Yeah. Got a break for Christmas. Come back here to chill for a bit, see some mates.”

“Right. Well, that’s why I didn’t call. I’m only here for two days. Thought I’d look for a present for Henry while I was here. Hard to know what to get him now.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Look, um, shall we go for that drink now?”

Orlando agrees readily, although part of him wonders why he is prolonging this awkward conversation. They go into a quiet bar and slide into a booth near the window, Viggo piling his Strider-esque coat up on the seat beside himself and running a hand though his cropped grey hair.

It’s funny, Orlando thinks, that the Viggo in his memory looks so different to the man sitting in front of him. In his memory Viggo doesn’t have weariness in his eyes, although he must have done during those long nights of filming Helm’s Deep. In his memory Viggo’s hair is longer and definitely less grey, even though this is how it was cut the last time Orlando saw him. It makes Orlando think that the man sitting opposite him is a stranger, one who has taken on the appearance of his friend but has somehow failed to include Viggo’s spirit in the deal and instead is old and tired.

It hurts Orlando to think this.

They skirt around topics, chatting about their mutual friends and how busy they’ve been over the past year and gradually Orlando feels himself coming back to life, the familiar warmth of friendship colouring his words, shared remembrances making them smile simultaneously, and then smile again as they see the other smile.

The light continues to fade outside and Orlando invites Viggo back to his. They could go out for a meal, but somehow Orlando wants to get back on home turf. It’s more personal, less like an interview or a business deal. He isn’t a great cook, but he reminds himself that Viggo knows this as the worry surfaces. He’s cooked for Viggo all those times before.

Viggo accepts, of course. Calls someone on his mobile to cancel whatever plans he had previously had. A flickering flame of warmth lights inside Orlando that Viggo would do that just to be with him. Of course he would, chides an inner voice. Just as you would for him, or for any one of the fellowship. A bond stronger than the ties of the film.

He suddenly feels an icy stab of guilt for the reunions he’s missed. He’d promised himself fame wouldn’t change him. He says he’s still the same, but he’s letting his friends become strangers.

They walk though the darkened streets to the underground station and take the tube four stops. Orlando is recognised in the mad crush of people and shrugs an apology to Viggo as he signs autographs for the excited girls.

“Quite the hot star,” Viggo murmurs in his husky monotone as the girls reluctantly allow Orlando to escape up the steps to the street.

Orlando shrugs. “Not like it never happens to you,” he retorts.

Viggo smiles. “It would have been their mothers after me. You forget I’m so ancient. My son is older than those girls.”

“Yeah, you old, smelly, human. When did your hair turn grey, man? Getting arthritis yet?” He smirks at Viggo. His friend lets out an indignant yelp and begins to chase Orlando down the street, dodging the few people still around.

Orlando escapes up the three steps to his door and unlocks it, fleeing down the passage to his apartment and opening that door too before Viggo catches him, the front door falling shut with a bang. “Come on in,” Orlando says, indicating the room beyond him and trying not to let Viggo see he’s out of breath.

Viggo kicks off his shoes as he enters, a familiar habit Orlando has forgotten until he sees it and which made him draw a breath under the weight of the cascade of memories it brings. So much for opening the door, now the flood had swept the whole house away. Viggo doesn’t appear to notice him falter however, he is busy investigating the room. He runs the palm of his hand across the surface of the wooden table against the wall and wriggles his now bare toes in the white shag pile carpet. “Nice,” he says, turning back to Orlando.

“Harrod’s sale,” Orlando admits with a blush.

Viggo throws back his head and laughs. Orlando can’t help laughing too although he doesn’t get the joke. “Harrod’s sale,” Viggo repeats as if it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “Oh, Orlando!”

“Yeah, um… do you want some tea or something while I get the food ready?”

“No, just let me help you. I meant it when I said it was nice. You’re turning into quite a starlet, elf-boy.”

For some reason that hurts, and Orlando turns away to burrow in a cupboard pulling out various ingredients for a stir-fry. Viggo rests a warm hand on his shoulder. “Orlando? Orlando. I’m sorry.”

Orlando smiles, sending Viggo to wash and chop the vegetables. Another flood of memories of other nights working in the same kitchen, usually under the direction of someone else.

But this is a different kitchen and there’s only the two of them. Strangers re-entering friendship.

Tbc…