Sheffield, 1979:
Viggo:
So there I was in an industrial town in the north of England. In that country for the first time ever and for the saddest reason – a funeral. Some distant cousin, but my father thought someone should represent our family. I wanted to get away for a while and I’d never been to England, so I guess I got elected.
The funeral was . . . a funeral. You’ve all been to one, I don’t need to tell you. But afterwards, with still a few days left before my flight home, I really wanted some company of my own age! I wanted some fun! I wanted . . . well those stunning green eyes meeting mine in the mirror above the bar would do very nicely, thank you. As would the body attached to them. A few hours later we were sharing the bed in his cosy apartment, lying side by side, fully sated, our breathing slowing down, floating gently back to earth.
“You’re amazing. I needed that so much”.
“Not so bad yourself, Yank”.
Then it hit me – we’d never said our names! The same thought must have struck him, for “I’m Sean” he said, with a smile. Easy. Mine was a bit more difficult, though, and it had become a sort of obsession with me, recording the different reactions to my name. So, “Viggo” I said, and waited.
“Viggo” he repeated slowly, and then totally caught me out.
“Scandinavian, would that be?” he said. “You know, horned helmets, rape and pillage, ‘Ride of the Valkyries’ and Vig the god of . . . thunder?”
“God of war” I corrected, laughing at his wonderfully sharp-witted response. “And if I remember rightly there may have been pillage and some riding tonight, but not a rape in sight!”
“Touché!” he said and we drifted into sleep, smiling.
So that’s how we met and we spent three days in that apartment – three of the best memories I’ll ever have. We shared our bodies and shared our minds. We talked and talked and talked. Our lives so far . . . our dreams for the future. He played me some jazz on his saxophone and I spoke some poetry – stuff I’d written before and new words in praise of his green eyes and stunning body. I knew I’d never forget those striking, unfathomable green eyes, if I lived to be a hundred. And he laughed for ages when I told him about my first forays into acting! Of all things, he’d just been accepted into a college in London to study . . . yes, acting!
As I woke in that bedroom for the last time, I couldn’t help smiling. He was already dressing, as neat and careful as he was in all things. Even his suitcase was neatly packed. Such a contrast to my hurried, messy, throwing-together of stuff. I looked for the last time on that perfect body, gracefully outlined against the window – he was so unaware of his beauty and strength, but I was more aware than he could ever have known. We kissed quietly and tenderly for the last time, finally staring at each other’s faces, then climbed into a taxi which took him to the station and me to the airport.
The green eyes stayed in my mind for a long time and I even tried to paint them. Just a little vignette in a notebook that eventually, I suppose, got put into a pile with a lot of others . . . and life moved on.
New Zealand, 1999:
Sean:
Of course, it helped having the advantage over him. I’d read the note introducing him as the new actor playing Aragorn. And I just knew there couldn’t be more than one actor in the world called Viggo – it surely had to be him! The moment I saw the name I was 20 years old again, playing jazz to fill in the time before going off to London, and enjoying some perfect days in perfect company in that tiny flat.
So I was prepared and he wasn’t. This should be fun!
“Sean, come and meet Viggo, our new Aragorn . . .”
“Would that be Vig the god of thunder, or Vig the god of war?”, I said, loud enough for him to hear as we walked towards him.
He stopped in his tracks, stared hard at my face, then ran towards me, nearly knocking me over in the biggest rugby-tackle of a hug I’d ever known. Then he stepped back, saying “Would that be Sean the sexy sax player?”
“The same, you mad Viking!”
And we never looked back.
Christmas 2000:
Viggo:
Well it took forever to find the notebook, but it surely was worth all the time and trouble when I saw the look on Sean’s face as I gave him the finished painting, “La Selva”. I told him when I’d got the idea for it, and what the intertwining of the blue and green spirals meant. I’d wanted so much to give him this – my expression of our two eye colours haunting a saturated space that erodes tensions but insists that we live among our own accumulation of half finished stories, layer upon layer – and I had to gulp a little myself when I saw the tears form in those beautiful eyes.
“Merry Christmas, Sean”.
Christmas 2000:
Sean:
Christmas with Viggo was never going to be ordinary, was it? Not least the gift he gave me – one of his own paintings. Well that was amazing in itself . . . and what a stunning work it was! Just two simple lines of blue and green intertwined. I loved it anyway . . . but when he told me its origin, started all those years ago when first we met, I had to struggle not to break down. A gift so personal and full of meaning and memory never was.
“Merry Christmas, Viggo”.
I love the madness and life force that is Viggo and I’d do anything for him – even still indulging this little quirk he has of always wanting to watch me when I dress and undress. But he’ll never tell me why . . . “just re-living a memory” he says. Mad Viking . . .
End.
A/N: Viggo Mortensen's painting "La Selva" really exists –
Summary: How they met..
Rated: G
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 1083 Read: 750
Published: 15 Aug 2009 Updated: 15 Aug 2009