Devonshire Coast, England, 1840
The pony and trap dropped Viggo off on the headland by a crouching row of rough, grey stone cottages with bluish slate roofs, built squat and sturdy to withstand the buffeting of the Atlantic storms. Today there was only a faint breeze and the sea stretched out, aquamarine beneath a clear blue sky, dotted with puffs of cloud. He walked to the edge of the cliff and looked down to where the deceptively serene blue-green curdled into brown foam and lapped at the jagged rocks. Looking up again and far out to sea he saw the sun glinting off the lid of a salt cellar painted in white and red hoops and he smiled at his silly fancy, for that would be his home for the next three months. His stomach fluttering with excitement and anticipation, he hefted his kitbag onto one shoulder, slung the basket with his fishing tackle on the other and gripping his fishing rod tightly, set off with purpose down the steep, cobbled slipway to the harbour.
‘Strong and fit men with practical skills and a knowledge of seafaring’, the advertisement in The Times had said. It had made clear that self-sufficiency would be paramount. Well he fitted the requirements, for had he not come to England as a hand on a ship, after many years of working on fishing boats? Was he not both strong and fit and bursting with practical skills after an upbringing which had encouraged self-sufficiency? At a time when he had spent too long in London, suffered too many disappointments, grown tired of the mass of humanity and the press of crowds, longing for solitude and a chance to draw and study the ocean and the seabirds he loved, he had taken this small newspaper panel as a sign and applied to *Trinity House.
He had quickly received a reply, been called for an interview there and accepted. Within a week he had been sent to their training school, where he had been instructed in mechanics, wood work, first aid at sea, rope work, fire-fighting, evacuation and how to make a lighthouse work and maintain it. They had even had to learn how to make bread. Being already in his thirty eighth year and able to turn his hand to pretty much anything, he had hardly been in need of most of the training, unlike the younger recruits, but at least it had given him some idea of the duties which would be required.
He would not have complete solitude, because there were never fewer than three men on a lighthouse, the Principal Keeper and two assistants, but he still expected that when off-duty, he would have plenty of opportunity for sketching and sea angling.
As he reached the quay, he could see a small boat being loaded with supplies under the supervision of a gruff–looking man of about his own age, dressed as he was in sea boots, a pea jacket and a sailor’s cap, who was checking items off on a list. A young lad was scampering about as eager as a puppy and attempting to help with the loading, frequently getting underfoot and falling over his own feet.
The Principal Keeper, for surely it must be he, shook his head and raised his hands to heaven in supplication.
“Please, God, send me a competent Assistant Keeper.” His accent was not the local West Country burr, but something rougher and more northern.
Viggo cleared his throat and prepared to introduce himself.
Even though he had enjoyed his almost three weeks off, Sean was glad to be back. The small, rented cottage he lived in when he was off duty was only ten minutes walk from the sea, but even that was too far. He had been in his late twenties, when he started working here, first as Assistant Keeper and a few years later as Principal Keeper. It was a challenging job, but Sean loved it and somehow the lighthouse felt more like home than his house.
His rough exterior hiding inner shyness, Sean was not a society man. He liked the solitude of his work, but also the companionship between him and his assistants. In the last few years he had grown fond of them, but now Billy had got married and had found another job so he could be with his wife all the time and Bernard had been assigned as Principal Keeper of another lighthouse in Devon. He would miss Billy, his sense of humour never overshadowing his skills. He would miss Bernard even more, would miss his quiet, steady friendship.
Sean sighed as he watched his new Assistant Keeper. Orlando seemed nice enough, young and eager to learn, but Sean knew he would be trouble. They had met only fifteen minutes ago, but already Sean had twice needed to grab him by the arm to prevent him from falling in the water. Lord knew why someone as young and exuberant as that, would want to bury himself in solitude for three months. The boy had just smiled a sunny smile, not at all impressed by the stern look on Sean's face and grinned widely as Sean called out for heavenly support. “Please, God, send me a competent Assistant Keeper.”
A small sound behind his back and Sean turned sharply. A man his own age, bright, grey-green eyes in an angular face, looked up at him and smiled.
"That would be me, I hope. I am Viggo Mortensen, the new Assistant Keeper."
Sean stretched out a hand to help the man aboard, but he had already jumped on and only then grabbed Sean's hand. "You must be the Principal Keeper."
"Yes. I am Sean Bean. This is Orlando Bloom, the other Assistant Keeper."
He watched the easy acquaintance between the men, silently admiring the way the newcomer moved on the rocking boat. *A sailor, no doubt.* Viggo stowed his kit and immediately helped to get the boat loaded, without being asked. He seemed as strong as Sean, lifting heavy boxes with ease, while he answered Orlando's never ending questions.
"That's enough, Orlando." Sean said, firm but not unfriendly. "We are ready to cast off."
Almost an hour later, they sat in the communal living space, sharing a cup of tea with the leaving crew. Viggo and Orlando had dropped their bags on two of the bunks set in the circular wall, Sean his in his slightly bigger one. When the boat had rowed off, Sean took his assistants one floor up. Both men looked in wonder at the view, even Orlando silent for the moment, slowly walking around. The sea was still calm and only the sound of gulls broke the silence.
"I do not like formality," Sean stated. "The Rules say you should call me Mr. Bean, but I prefer to be called Sean and I will call you Viggo and Orlando. Any objections?" When both men shook their heads, Sean resumed; "Having said that, I am still the Principal Keeper here. Now let us prepare the rotas."
Viggo had automatically taken one set of oars on boarding the boat and had expected that the friendly, chattering lad, Orlando, would take the other, leaving the silent and authoritative Principal Keeper to take the tiller. To his surprise, however, Bean had pushed Orlando to the stern and put him in charge of steering, while he rolled up his sleeves, spat on his hands and took to the oars himself.
He enjoyed the row out to the lighthouse on the glassy ocean, taking in much missed lungfuls of sea air and relishing the ache in his muscles as he pulled on the oars. Being seated at the forward rowing position, he could see only Bean’s broad back, which obscured Orlando’s face, but did nothing to muffle his exuberant comments and cries of delight. Bean rowed easily and strongly and Viggo found himself falling into a smooth rhythm with him, as though they had rowed together often. He smiled to himself as he understood why the man had chosen to row himself. From what he had seen of Orlando’s lack of coordination, he would probably have fallen on his back or caught a crab. They might even have gone round in circles. As it was, Viggo felt that the lad was not really needed to steer, because Bean was sure of his path to the lighthouse. Bean called out an occasional, “steady, lad”, indicating that Orlando should keep steering in the direction they were going and in no time at all, Viggo caught his first close view of the towering edifice as they came alongside to the shouts of greeting from the crew they were relieving.
“Easy up,” called Bean and Viggo stopped rowing, then, “Blades in. Throw that line, lad!”
Bean and Viggo drew in their oars and Orlando, wobbling precariously, stood and threw the aft line to the waiting crew, who caught it more from their own dexterity than from the skill of the thrower. Smartly, Viggo leaned and took the bow line, standing to throw it and it too was caught and secured. Making sure that the oars were also secured, both men jumped nimbly out onto the makeshift jetty on the rock and held out a hand each to haul Orlando to safety.
The outgoing crew helped unload the supplies and they shared a comradely cup of tea in the cramped living quarters, before waving off their mates and climbing to the top of the tower. The view from the outside platform was so spectacular that, as Viggo observed, it even rendered Orlando speechless. They were on duty now, however and having told them that they would be on first name terms, but not to forget that he was the Principal, Sean allocated their duties.
Viggo had been so occupied answering Orlando’s questions that he had not had time to ask any of him and it intrigued him why anyone so young and clearly fond of human company should have chosen this profession.
Now it turned out that Orlando was trying to follow in his grandfather’s footsteps and that this was not his first posting, although it was his first on a rock and serving under Sean. Viggo grinned to himself. He had wondered how Orlando had previously managed on boats and rocks with his balance and was not surprised to find that his previous duties had been on a shore-based station. He had longed to serve on this particular lighthouse, where his grandfather had been stationed and at last his dreams had come true.
Watching Sean’s frown as he decided which duties to allocate, Viggo was sure that having Orlando on his crew was not making Sean’s dreams come true. As if he could read Sean’s mind, he knew that he was wondering where Orlando could do least damage.
In the living quarters, Sean, frowning, bowed his head over a sheet of paper and scribbled down a rough schedule, while Viggo busied himself with checking the lamps and the reflecting-apparatus. Of course the outgoing crew should have left everything in perfect order, but Sean was not a man to take things for granted and he was pleased to see Viggo wasn’t either. Orlando had wanted to follow in Viggo’s footsteps, but Sean had ordered him to stack away the food supplies in the cooking area.
An hour later, they shared another cup of tea, while Sean showed them the schedule.
“We will have a four hour shift each,” he said. “I expect that both of you are aware of the duties, but to make certain, the list of things to be done is on the wall over there. If anything is not clear, please feel free to ask. Viggo; you have done the training, but don’t have real experience and Orlando; you are still very young. You should be aware this is a very responsible job and people’s lives can and will depend on our performance. So please do not hesitate to ask for help. Viggo, you checked the lamps and gear, was all in good order? “
“Aye, Sir. I supplied some oil to the lamps, just in case, but all seems well maintained.”
“Good. I have made up a schedule for the coming two weeks. We can see if it works out well, agreed?
Viggo and Orlando both nodded and Sean resumed. “Viggo, you will be on domestic duties for this week and cook our first meal. Orlando, you will be on cleaning duties and I will be responsible for the light room. You will take the watch from noon, which we will split between us, but because it is your first time here I will watch with you. Otherwise, I will take the watches at 4 and you will take those at 8. Viggo, as cook this week, you will take only one night watch from midnight until 4. As I said, you can find all your duties in between shifts on the list. Remember to frequently trim the wicks during the course of the night and particularly at the end of each watch. Luckily, we have nice, calm weather, so it will give us an easy start. Is that clear?”
“I am not new to the job,” Orlando said, “I can watch alone.”
Sean, looking at Orlando’s pouting face, sighed. “It is how we will do it, Orlando. I need to be sure.”
“But –“the boy started, but then bit his lip as he caught Sean’s stern expression.
“Viggo?” Sean turned to look at the other man.
“Sure, all fine with me.”
“Then let us get going.”
By the time they gathered around the small table for early supper, which Sean called ‘tea’, they had settled in. Orlando had seemed to forget his earlier resentment and tucked into his food happily.
Sean bowed his head and sniffed appreciatively. “That smells good Viggo, I am glad you know how to cook.”
Viggo smiled. “I hope to get lucky with fishing. I have some pretty good fish recipes I would like to try.”
“Should be no problem; plenty of fish here. How about you, lad? Can you cook as well as you eat? You seem to have a healthy appetite.”
Orlando looked up from his bowl of stew and dumplings and grinned. “I was very hungry, must be the sea air and all. Yes, I can cook, perhaps not as well as Viggo, but well enough.”
“Good. We will find out soon enough. Right now you can start with washing the dishes after the meal.”
Seeing Orlando’s pout and wanting to intercept any insubordination, Viggo intervened, hurriedly ladling out second helpings. “Surely washing the dishes is part of the domestic duties I am rostered for this week.”
“It is,” agreed Sean, starting on his second bowl, “but discipline on this Light is essential and my word is law here. I try to be fair, but there will be no arguments or questioning my orders. Do I make myself clear?”
“Aye, aye, Sir”
“I told you to call me ‘Sean’. Orlando?”
“Aye, aye, Sean.”
“Good. Now can that be rhubarb cobbler you are getting out of the oven, Viggo? At this rate you’ll be hauling us up the outside of the tower on a rope. We will be utterly incapable of climbing the stairs.”
They all laughed and Orlando seemed happy to clear the table and heat water to wash up. It was Sean’s watch until Orlando would relieve him at 20.00 hours and he invited Viggo to join him up on the lower platform and bring his pipe. They leaned on the rail together in companionable silence, lulled by full bellies and the sound of the waves breaking on the rock. Sean offered Viggo his baccy pouch, which was gladly accepted. After a while, Sean spoke,
“Did you miss the sea? I heard tell that you came here from London. Why here and not a ship?”
“I did miss it dreadfully and I grew tired of the reek and filth of the city, but most importantly I grew tired of the unceasing press of humanity and, I suppose of their inhumanity toward each other. I would have returned to sea, but did not feel much like being part of a large crew again. What I seek is solitude and the opportunity to commune with nature and cleanse my soul.”
“We live pretty close here. You’ll not be able to hike off a few miles to the other side of the rock for your solitude. ”
“We are but a three man crew and will be occupied with our separate duties and I will have the chance during my watches to be alone or in my free time, take my fishing rod and line out on the rock.”
“Well aye, you’ll have the chance to do that. It is good fishing here. Tomorrow I will show you my preferred fishing method.”
Viggo was intrigued, but Sean smiled and shook his head. He would have to wait until the morrow.
“Go and get your head down for a few hours, Viggo, before you have to take the midnight watch.”
“I shall, but first I want to bake the bread for tomorrow.” Viggo knocked out his pipe against the rail and put it in his jacket pocket. Sean patted him on his shoulder and Viggo began the dizzying descent of the stairs, meeting Orlando coming up.
“All washed up and put away and wiped down. What about a game of chequers before my watch? Do say yes.”
Viggo could not help but smile at the puppy-like eagerness. He was sure that Orlando was a good lad at heart; he was merely unsure of his efficiency. “Just one game, Orlando. I need to bake and take a nap before my watch.”
The board was placed and Viggo easily won the first game, easing off a little so as not to crush the boy’s spirits and allowing Orlando to win the second. They went to ‘best of three’ and Viggo was just celebrating his win, when he heard Sean ringing the bell to call Orlando to his watch. He shook his head and chuckled as Orland leapt to his feet, tripped over his chair, tried to put on his jacket inside out and ran for the stairs after disentangling himself.
He stood, rolled up his sleeves and went to draw more water from the pump to set about his baking.
After Viggo went down, Sean stayed where he was for some time, enjoying the peace and quiet. As always, the Light and the sea made him feel at home and as much as he had dreaded having to get used to new assistants, it seemed he had been lucky. The lad would be a bit of a handful, but he obviously meant well and he was not the type to brood over a reprimand. He would learn eventually. Viggo was a totally different kind. Different from any other man Sean had ever worked with. Already Sean liked him and had approved of Viggo's reasons for applying for the job.
Viggo seemed strong and capable enough and between the two of them they would manage to keep Orlando in check. Belching softly, Sean rubbed his belly. Apart from that, Viggo was a pretty decent cook.
Slowly, Sean made his rounds, checking the wicks as he was going, not that it was really needed, but he liked falling back into routine. A sudden breeze rolled in from the sea and Sean turned to look at the horizon and sniff the air. The sea was still calm, but he noticed a change. It would take probably a few hours, but somewhere during the night the wind would turn up a few notches, he was certain of that. Not a real storm, or anything, just an end to the calm.
It was completely dark, when Sean rang the bell to summon Orlando for his watch. This time he trimmed the wicks, as he waited for the lad to climb the stairs. The wind had not really picked up yet and Sean was glad, finding himself hoping it would wait a few hours, until Viggo was on guard.
"I am here, Sean. You can go." Orlando, not even panting after climbing the stairs, smiled at him.
"Right. Just ring the bell if there's anything amiss."
"I will. Don't worry, Sean, I know what I am doing."
Downstairs, Sean found Viggo in the kitchen area. He had thrown off his grey sweater and was wearing only his white undershirt while he was kneading dough, muscles rolling over the smooth skin of his arms. For a moment Sean stared, and then he averted his eyes quickly.
"You should be asleep," he said gruffly.
"I know, but Orlando and I were playing chequers and I lost track of the time. I am quite well, Sean. I really do not need much sleep and it will be nice to have freshly baked bread in the morning."
"Aye, it will," Sean agreed, clearing up one side of the table carefully.
Viggo turned to look at him. "What are you doing?"
"A man needs a hobby, especially when he is confined to small space for a while. One of my hobbies is making ships in bottles. It is not as easy as you might think and you need a lot of patience for it. Still, I find it really rewarding. Do you have hobbies Viggo, besides fishing?"
From the large blue bag he had brought with him, Sean took a paper bag and held it upside down, shaking it lightly, so the contents fell on the table.
"I do. I like to draw and am looking forward to sketching the seabirds and the ocean."
Sean looked up. "So you are an artist? A good thing you are drawing birds and not portraits, even though the lad is quite pretty, I suppose."
*And so are you, in a rugged, weather-beaten way.*
Viggo continued kneading the dough, an activity he found soothing and always enjoyed. He was glad that he had not spoken his thoughts aloud, imagining the scandalized reaction from Sean. He had always appreciated beauty in all its forms, whether a scarlet sunset, a stormy sea or a soaring seabird and he found the man’s strong face and Roman nose attractive. It was true that Orlando had the unfinished beauty of a young colt and no doubt he would be rewarding to draw, but he preferred the lived-in face, with laugh lines at the eye corners and experience in the green eyes.
Realizing that he was staring, he gathered his dough into a large ball, leaving the sides of his bowl clean, covered it with a cloth and set it by the stove to rise. He returned to the table, wiping it clean, checked the time on the big brass wall-mounted clock and sat to watch Sean.
The man was already absorbed in his work, using a small chisel to hollow and shape the ship from a block of balsa wood. He had smoothed out the brown paper and placed on it the rest of its contents, thin wooden rods for masts and parchment for the sails, tiny pots of paint and fine brushes, a pot of glue and a spool of fine thread.
Viggo found himself fascinated by the clever fingers and watched in silent admiration, the next hour passing swiftly. With a small murmur, he realised that it was time to get his dough and knock it down. Sean looked up as he rose to fetch the bowl.
“Sorry. I am not much of a companion, am I? I had thought to work in here so that we might talk, but the craft absorbs me.”
“Not at all.” Viggo turned his dough onto a floured board and began to knock the air out and knead it again. “I have enjoyed watching you. ‘Tis always a pleasure to see skill being exercised. There is not always a need to talk.”
“I am not sure than the lad would agree with you. Talking of him, perhaps I should go aloft and check on him.”
“Do you think there is a need? The night is still calm and this is not his first posting.”
“It is his first on this rock and the weather can change quickly. There was a freshening wind just before we changed watch.”
“Well,” said Viggo shaping his dough into a round, cottage loaf and cutting a cross on top,” it is, of course, your decision, but I judge that you can leave him safely tonight.”
Sean thought for a moment and then nodded as Viggo deftly slid the loaf from board to baking sheet and carried it to the oven. “Very well.” He returned to his work and Viggo smiled to himself, pleased that Sean had accepted his judgement as sound.
The delicious smell of baking bread soon filled the small area and Sean sniffed appreciatively. “I cannot be hungry after such a good meal, yet that smell always sets my mouth watering.”
“I will brew some tea for us both and take a beaker up to Orlando.”
Viggo climbed the staircase carefully, but with a sure tread. He had climbed the rigging of ships in the teeth of many a howling gale, but he always respected any environment, as he respected the sea. One careless slip on these twisting metal steps could be fatal.
Orlando greeted him happily and set about chattering immediately as he accepted the tea. “Oh thank you. That is kind. It is all quiet up here – just a bit of a breeze. It’s a fine, clear night. I can smell your bread baking. I cannot wait for breakfast. Oh, are you leaving already?”
“I need to get the bread out and then put my head down for an hour or two. Ring at midnight for my watch.”
The block of wood roughly started taking the shape of a small ship under his hands and Sean sighed contently. Somehow, it made him feel as if he had now definitely let go of his other life ashore, his brain cleared from any mundane thoughts or worries.
Now Sean realized that Viggo had been watching him all this time or maybe just watching his hands working. Normally he would have sought solitude, but surprisingly enough he felt comfortable enough with Viggo around, not even finding the need for polite conversation. It was as if they had fallen into an easy friendship and mutual trust already and Sean accepted Viggo's careful words about Orlando.
When Viggo returned they drank their tea in silence.
I will try to get some sleep now, Sean." Viggo stood and stretched.
"Yes, you had better. I will keep working on my ship for another hour or so and then I will go to sleep too. Sleep well."
"Good night, Sean."
Now that Viggo was gone, Sean grew a bit restless. Afraid that he would spoil the wood, he put his tools down and started clearing up the table. Again he wondered if he should check on the lad, but he noticed it was close to eleven already; another hour and Viggo would replace Orlando. It was time to sleep; Sean decided and went to the small and sober washroom.
One floor lower, candle in his hand, he sought his way to his bunk, careful not to wake Viggo, who was obviously sound asleep. Blowing out the candle, Sean stepped into bed. The bunk felt small and uncomfortable after his nice bed at home, but Sean knew he would get used to it soon enough. Now that his eyes had got used to the dark, he could just make out Viggo's sleeping form and Sean smiled. Within minutes he too was asleep. The ringing of the bell woke him, but he could hear Viggo rising from his bed and he turned and fell asleep again, until the next ringing of the bell woke him. In the bed on the other side of the room, Orlando stirred "Wha-?"
"’Tis my watch, lad," Sean said, "go back to sleep."
Outside, the now chilly wind, cleared the last vestiges of sleep as Sean climbed the stairs carefully, clutching his tea beaker against his body.
Viggo turned and greeted him with a white flash of teeth. "Sean."
"Viggo. How was your watch?"
"Reasonably uneventful. The wind has turned northwest, though."
"Yes and there will be rain soon. Was all left in good order by Orlando?"
"Yes, he did really well. He will be fine."
"Glad to hear that. There's fresh tea for you in the kitchen and then you should get some real sleep, Viggo. See you for breakfast."
Sean sipped his tea and then checked the wicks in the lamps, not that he had any doubts about Viggo's work; Sean just liked to check everything twice. He made himself another pipe and smoked contently, huddled in his warm clothes. Twice, he saw the lights of ships passing, but there was nothing unusual.
The sounds of the sea, the familiar surrounding of the lighthouse and perhaps the promise of a shared breakfast with Viggo in the morning - *that bread smelled delicious* - made him smile again. *So good to be back.*
Two months into the three month tour of duty, the three men had fallen into a friendly, companionable, but efficient routine. Viggo approved of the way that Sean kept the standards high, and the Light, what Viggo thought of as ‘ship-shape’. He scrupulously entered everything in the daily logs in his neat hand. Viggo was endlessly fascinated by his skills at making ships in bottles and carving small pieces of driftwood into curios. He loved watching those slender, clever fingers work. He himself had filled his sketchbook with drawings of seabirds and had been introduced to another skill of Sean’s, which was kite-making. He admired Sean’s ingenuity at using kites for fishing. Tethered to the rails, the kites carried the lines into deep water and both by this and more conventional fishing methods, they supplemented their diet with fresh fish.
Orlando did not seem to have a hobby when he arrived, apart from reading and playing chess and chequers, which necessitated a companion, but they had become used to his chattering, which Sean nevertheless rationed, insisting on some hours being designated ‘quiet time’. Viggo was relieved that the lad seemed a relatively competent cook and had not managed many breakages or spillages over the two months.
The weather had taken a turn for the worst and as the bell rang to call Viggo to his midnight watch, he dutifully but reluctantly left the warmth of his bunk behind and slid his thickly socked feet into felted inner boots and then his sea boots. He shrugged into a warm jacket, muffler and woollen gloves, for the light room would be dreadfully cold tonight. It had to be well-ventilated to keep the lamps burning and prevent condensation from misting the glass.
He smiled at Sean’s softly snoring form in his bunk, pulled on his cap and began climbing the steps up to the balcony, where a distinctly chilly-looking Orlando was waiting, the tip of his red nose the only part of him visible between his muffler and woollen hat. Viggo saw that he was cradling something inside his jacket and knew that they had another casualty.
Birds were constantly blown against the glass panes by the buffeting winds and many perished, but the injured ones Viggo had begun to rescue and had set up a field hospital in the oil room to nurse them back to health. Orlando had eagerly been recruited as a nurse and this seemed to be absorbing him now as a hobby. Viggo raised his voice above the storm, ”What have you got?”
“Cormorant,” yelled Orlando, ”broken wing. I’ll splint it and then make you some cocoa.”
Viggo went and wound up the clockwork mechanism, which made the lamps turn and checked the wicks and oil levels. Satisfied with the conditions of the lamp ands and their timing, he settled down for a wild watch. After a while, he heard Orlando coming back with his cocoa and removed one of his mitts to receive the hot beaker from the tin tray. The seas were rising higher and almost reaching the upper balcony. Sean had told him that in the worst conditions the sea could wash right over the 150 foot tall tower and even break the thick panes of glass.
Viggo felt a shiver of exhilaration mingled with fear, such as he had not felt since leaving the sea. Mother Nature in all her power was a force to be reckoned with.
He had just taken his first scalding sip of the cocoa, when he heard a yell and the unmistakable sound of a tin tray clattering down a metal stair, followed by a thump and a groan.
Sean’s voice came up the stairwell, faint against the noise of the storm outside, but clear enough to hear,
“Christ, Orlando! What on earth have you done?”
TBC
*Trinity House is the General Lighthouse Authority for England, Wales and other British territorial waters with the exception of Scotland, Northern Ireland and the Isle of Man.
Summary: The year is 1840. Viggo finds an interesting new job.
Rated: R
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: AUChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 2 Completed: Yes
Word count: 11178 Read: 927
Published: 01 Mar 2012 Updated: 01 Mar 2012