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Sean's eyes strained past the great silver wing, searching for a hint of green. A grimace crossed his face as he recalled the reason for his aching neck and occluded view. This section was, structurally speaking, the safest part of the plane, and he felt the irony keenly. Force of hobbit, he thought with derision, recalling the headlines of the past two years. Safe. One of the things his life wasn't---the other things---he couldn't bear to think about.
He sat back and reached out to lower the shade against the glare. The ring on his finger glinted in the harsh sunlight, and he stared at it for a long moment. Strange how he was so aware of the thing now, when it was no longer a symbol of his marriage. It had become instead a golden shield to hide behind, a barrier to unwelcome questions and conjecture. He turned it on his finger absently. No one knew except Mac and Christine, he thought with relief. And Viggo - but Vig wouldn't tell. He had promised.
______
It had happened during the party after the last US premiere -the LA one. He had had too much to drink, and had slipped out to the balcony to try and clear his head. Getting drunk was a really bad idea in his present state of mind, and drowning his sorrows didn't work. The fucking buggers swam too well. He leaned on the balustrade and stared out over the city, while behind him, the band started another song.
...I knew I loved you before I met you
I think I dreamed you into life.
I knew I loved you before I met you
I have been waiting all my life...
He hadn't realized that he was crying until he felt a hand on his shoulder and a quiet presence beside him. "Sean?" Viggo's voice was soft and almost inaudible. "Are you okay? Can I help?"
Sean shook his head dumbly and tried to stem the flow. A burst of hobbity laughter rang out and he flinched involuntarily. Viggo took his arm and steered him to a dark corner, out of sight of the crowd, and then folded his arms and waited patiently. Obscurely comforted by Viggo's presence, Sean had let himself go. He cried until he was drained dry, cried until the hard knot of anguish in his chest loosened and dissolved; and then he spoke, and seemed almost surprised to hear the sound of his own voice.
"I can't do this anymore," he husked painfully. "I'm leaving Christine, Vig."
"I see." Viggo's tone was noncommittal.
"Do you---really?" Their eyes met and Sean had realized that Viggo did indeed see. There was another long stretch of silence. Sean clutched the railing, his eyes staring off into the night.
"It's ironic, really." His short laugh was a thing of bitterness. "I was ready to leave my family for him - that's how much he meant to me. But he chose otherwise - and denied me the chance. And our pain - was all for nothing."
"If you leave Chris - what about your 'budding' political career?" Viggo had returned, his voice subtly mocking. He and Sean were at opposite ends of the political spectrum.
Sean had looked at him with exasperation. "Let it be, Vig. You know we both want the same things - safety and security for those we love, an end to all this war - only we chose different ways to achieve them." His voice dropped an octave, and he whispered, "I don't know what I care about anymore..."
"Are you sure about this, Sean?" Viggo asked, stepping delicately around the thorns. "I mean - Elijah is - um..." his voice trailed away uncertainly.
"I know." Sean replied quietly. "It doesn't matter. It was over three years ago - had hardly even begun. I'm not looking to rekindle, Vig. Just knowing he's happy is enough for me."
"And what about you, Sean? What about your happiness?" There was a worried lilt in his voice. "What do you want? What are you looking for?"
Sean sighed tiredly and went silent. Eventually he stirred, and his voice drifted out into the night. "I want peace," he said longingly. "Happiness isn't in the cards for me, I'm afraid. Not now, anyway." He turned to stare at his friend. "Love - can make up for a great many things you lack. If love is missing, well, no matter what else you have, it's never enough. I found out the hard way, Vig. I had love, and I let it go." There was no self-pity in his voice -only simple acceptance.
The two men stood silently, lost in thought; bound by shared experiences and a deep friendship. Sean said abruptly, "Elijah doesn't need to know - promise me you won't tell him, Vig."
Viggo had looked at him and Sean saw the concern in his eyes. "I won't tell him, Sean." was all he had said.
*****
Sean glanced at his watch. The plane would be landing in half an hour. He looked out the window and watched a skein of tiny islands slide by below him. A wave of sadness washed over him and his breath caught in a spasm of pain. These pick-ups would be the last. The Fellowship had argued fiercely against separate filming schedules, and Mark and Barry had backed them up. Peter had agreed, though it would be difficult for him, and they had a window of two weeks where schedules would overlap and they would all be together again. Even Beanie would be here then. Here in New Zealand, where it all began. Back in Middle Earth.
Sean picked them out of the crowd immediately. Three jittering figures, dancing with impatience. They didn't see him at once, though - probably didn't recognize him at all. He saw Elijah's eyes widen as they lit on him, and Dom and Billy started in surprise. Then Lij was elbowing through the throng and he dropped his bags and braced himself as the slim body cannoned into him. Elijah said nothing at all, just burrowed into Sean's neck and held on tight; it was left to Billy and Dom to blurt out what was on all their minds.
"My god, Sean! Pete will have a stroke! What the hell have you done to yourself?" Dom raked him with his eyes. "How much do you weigh now?"
Billy chimed in. "Are y'okay, mate? This canna be healthy for you - I swear you've lost five more pounds since December -stop it already!"
Elijah felt Sean's body tense, felt his arms tighten, felt them loosen and fall away. Before Sean could frame a reply, Lij whirled around to glare at the other two. "Stop it! Stop bugging him - Jesus - first he's too fat, and now he's too thin? He's still Sam - and I'm Frodo- and you're Merry and Pippin. That's what's important, okay? Sean knows what he's doing."
He turned back to Sean and the look in his eyes belied his words. Sean saw worry there, and a tiny crease deepening between his brows, so beloved and familiar. He yearned to reach out and smooth the frown away, but settled for a reassuring smile instead. Elijah smiled back, grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the door, chattering madly; the others followed with the bags. They reached the curb and Lij fell abruptly silent. Sean glanced at him, saw the blue eyes lowered, riveted on their clasped hands; then - nothing was left but a lingering pressure on his fingers - and a glint of gold.
During the drive back, Lijah stayed unusually quiet. Sean saw Dom reach out to touch his thigh, saw Elijah turn his head and smile. He marked the love in the simple gesture and shut his eyes in silent pain.
*****
The week flew by in a blur of costume fittings and script meetings. Peter didn't have a stroke after all, but took one look at Sean and yelled for the set medic. The doctor muttered imprecations on the absurdity of Hollywood body-worship, but pronounced him fit, if dehydrated, and gave them all a lecture on the dangers of putting on and losing weight too rapidly. Pete had the grace to look abashed. Elijah merely looked angry, and had stared daggers at Sean throughout.
Sean had to wear a 'smelly belly' now, just like Dom's. He resigned himself to the discomfort, thankful that the Weta guys had decided to go with cheek pads rather than Gimli-style prosthetics; it was best not to be too comfortable anyway, he decided. Comfortable was dangerous.
Everything finally fit and the first day of shooting arrived. Sean dreaded it and longed for it, both in equal measure. If he couldn't be Elijah's Sean, at least he was Frodo's Sam - it was all he had, and no one could take it away from him. They were Sam and Frodo forever. They were immortal. They paid Shelob a visit, returned to Cirith Ungol, re-scaled Mount Doom and sailed again from the Grey Havens. Throughout it all, Sean was completely Sam - so deeply immersed in him that it took enormous effort to pull himself out at the end of the day. The intensity of his acting amazed and disconcerted some, and worried others - notably Viggo, who had arrived for his own pick-up shots. Sean was Sam, and Sam was letting his love for Frodo show - and he no longer cared who saw it.
*****
Sean collapsed on his bed with a groan. This had been the most harrowing day - Frodo's and Sam's last day of filming. Everyone had been there. Filming on other sets had been suspended for this moment- the heart and soul of the story. They had been shooting pick-ups for the Grey Havens - some of the most emotional yet. Peter had yelled a delighted "excellent!" and the set had dissolved in chaos. Sean hadn't even heard him - his eyes and arms were filled with Elijah; Elijah, whose tears welled from his sapphire eyes, Elijah, whose heartbroken sobs tore his heart apart, whose body shuddered against his with abandoned grief. They swayed together, their tears mingling. Around them, everyone did the same. Andy and Richard wept unashamedly in each other's arms; ditto Billy and Dom, Viggo and Orlando. Phil, Liv and Miranda cried together; the men, elves and dwarf of Middle Earth huddled in a damp group hug, and sniffling Weta techs scurried around, trying to repair the ravages of tears. Gandalf and Saruman smiled mistily at everyone, and in the midst of it all, Peter and Fran embraced each other triumphantly, their work well done.
Sean couldn't stand it for very long, and had slipped away unobtrusively. He was nearing the end of his endurance. The strain of the past three years, the constant battering of emotion, was taking its toll on him. He was no fool - he knew he was headed for some sort of breakdown. All he could hope to do was stave it off until this was over; then he could disintegrate in quiet and privacy.
The hobbits had gone to their favorite pub - he had begged off, feigning a headache. The prospect of a night spent watching Lij and Dominic together was insupportable. He had intended an early night, but soon the room began to contract around him, loneliness and emptiness taking on a terrifying solidity - pressing down on him, suffocating him. He had given up at last and gone out, passing through the quiet lobby like a wraith, with nowhere to go and no one to be with. He didn't see a figure rise from an armchair in a shadowed corner, didn't sense a protective presence following him.
Hours later, the little pub he had chosen began to empty. He lifted his head and peered about blearily. The vodka had taken the edge off the pain, but he didn't think he was drunk -not yet. For someone who didn't drink much, he could hold quite a bit of liquor. A movement in the dimness of the doorway caught his wandering eye, and he blinked involuntarily. When his vision cleared, whatever it was, was gone. He smiled grimly. If this was the onset of delirium tremens, it was worse than he had thought. Seeing Elijah in the DTs would just about cap his sorry life.
Sean left the pub soon after and staggered back to the hotel. When he was a good way down the quiet street, a figure detached itself from a darker pool of shadow and followed him, waiting until he had pushed through the doors before retreating to a parked car and disappearing into it.
The figure pulled out a cell phone and punched out a number with angry jabs.
"Okay, Ian," Elijah bit out through gritted teeth. "What the fuck's going on?"
*****
He stood trembling in the middle of the room, his eyes wild and disbelieving. Ian shot him an apologetic look and shrugged. "Viggo didn't quite know what to do, you know. He'd promised Sean he wouldn't tell you about his leaving Christine, so he came to me." He paused. "I'd asked him to keep an eye on you both, you see. He was my 'spy' in L.A. - if you will."
"Just call me Wormtongue," came the muttered aside from the depths of the couch.
The attempt at levity didn't work. Elijah wrapped his arms around his chest and stared at the carpet. His eyes felt hot and sore. The thought of Sean in pain, of Sean suffering, sent a shaft of excruciating agony through his body. He curled himself around its core and dropped to his knees, shuddering. "Why couldn't he tell me?" he moaned. "He must hurt so much - oh god - doesn't he trust me anymore?"
"M' boy," Ian said gently. "You'll have to ask him yourself. Elijah, we decided to break faith with Sean because the alternative would do you both a great disservice. Whatever decisions you make now - and I know that you and Dominic are nearing one - will be - um - informed ones." He met Viggo's eyes for a moment. "I do not know how Sean feels - but - do you love him, Elijah?"
Silence. A palpable air of expectation filled the room as they stared at the young man huddled on the floor. Finally, Elijah raised his head and the tears in his eyes shimmered crystal in the lamplight. "I don't know - I can't tell! Help me, Ian!" The last was a cry from the heart.
Ian shook his head regretfully. "I'm sorry, Elijah. I can't help you - but I will ask you this: Right now, knowing what you do, what does your heart desire the most?"
Elijah didn't stop to think and the words spilled out -unadorned, honest.
"Sean - I want Sean to be happy."
Ian sat back, satisfied. "Then - trust your instincts, Elijah."
They stared at each other for a long moment; Elijah looking up at Ian through lashes pearled with tears. Ian was forcibly reminded of a faun in a tapestry he had once seen - the pose and tilted eyes absolutely identical. Elijah exuded mystery -and a primal sexuality. Then he smiled uncertainly and the illusion fled. "Thanks, Gandalf." He rose to his feet and gave Ian a hug.
"You're welcome, Ringbearer." Ian returned the hug heartily.
Elijah caught up his jacket and turned to leave. He hesitated, then turned back and walked over to the couch. "Thank you, Vig." he said soberly. Then he grinned, bent lithely down, and kissed Viggo full on the lips.
"Elijah." He turned to Ian questioningly. "Be careful." Elijah nodded shortly and left.
Viggo stared at the door, his fingers on his lips. "That kid ought to have a warning label on him."
Ian nodded absently. "That was as pure a declaration of love as I could ever hope to hear," he said. "I wonder if Elijah realizes that."