It was the dailies that had sparked it, of that much Viggo was sure. The shots of the victory feast after Helm's Deep, and the toasts to "the victorious dead."
And now he was scrabbling around his trailer for a notebook he *knew* was somewhere, and muttering in a language he hadn't thought of or used in *years.* He thought he'd seen it under the table... ah, there it was.
"Gwyr a aeth gatraeth gan wawr
Dygymyrrws eu hoet eu hanyanawr
Med evynt melyn melys maglawr
Blwydyn bu llewyn llawer kerdawr
Coch eu cledyuawr na phurawr
Eu llain gwyngalch a phedryollt bennawr
Rac gosgord mynydawc mwynvawr."*
He rolled the syllables around on his tongue, the double consonants and liquid vowels coming back to him slowly, but surely. So engrossed was he in the memory and sound of the language that he didn't notice Sean's entrance... but his head snapped up at the sound of Sean's Boromir voice sliding musically under and around the next lines.
"Gwyr a aeth gatraeth gan dyd
Neus goreu o gadeu gewilid
Wy gwnaethant en geugant gelorwyd
A llavnawr llawn annawd em bedyd
Goreu yw hwn kyn kystlwn kerennyd
Enneint creu ac angeu oe hennyd
Rac bedin Ododin pan vudyd
Neus goreu deu bwyllyat neirthyat gwychyd." **
"I never knew you spoke Welsh, Sean! Hell, your accent's better than mine."
"Had a Welsh girlfriend once--bit of a bookworm, but she taught me all the best bits."
"Ah, all the naughty bits."
"Nope, actually. Bits like this, which always makes me think of you, Vig."
"Hir wynn vy myssawr. pell na bum heussawr.
Treigleis ymywn llawr kyn bum lleenawr.
Treigleis kylchyneis kysceis cant ynys. cant caer athrugys.
derwydon doethur. darogenwch y arthur.
yssit yssyd gynt. heuv uu ergenhynt.
Ac vn euryll. mi hudbyf berthyll
ac bydys drythyll o erymes fferyll." ***
Viggo laughed. "Aragorn more likely than me... I've never been 'a man of letters.' I'm impressed, Sean. And here I thought I was the polyglot."
"Words, words, words." Sean mocks him gently. "What I can say in Welsh, I can't in English--how daft is that?"
Viggo smiles, eyes kindling to cobalt. "You say it with you body, with your eyes and hands, with touch. You've no need for words, fy'n galon. Though" flash of a grin "you can tell me in as many languages as you like, if you like."
Sean smiles at the endearment. "Myn capten, myn brenhin, fy'n galon." Deep breath. "I love you, Viggo."
"Jeg elsker dig, Sean. Ryt ti'n garu di. Je t'aime. Ti amo. Whatever language I speak, it's the same. I love you."
Sean smiles, and breathes deeply. "Well. Now that the hard part's over with," and grins sheepishly at that, "I have one more thing to ask. Bwchia mi, Vig?"
Viggo grinned, that 'slightly mental' spark lighting in his eyes. "Of course. I was wondering when--and how!--you'd ask. But straightforward Welsh works for me. And hey... I thought you said your girlfriend didn't teach you anything naughty?"
Sean snorted. "Wanker."
"Not" Viggo pounces, pinning Sean to the couch "anymore."
"Diolch yn fawr, Vig."
Translations:
*The men went to Catraeth with the dawn;
Regretted are their absence and their disposition;
Mead they drank, yellow, sweet, ensnaring.
In that year many a minstrel fell.
Redder were their swords than their plumes.
Their blades were white as lime, their helmets split into four parts,
Before the retinue of Mynyddawg Mwynvawr.
(Y Gododdin, trans. A.O.H. Jarman)
**The men went to Catraeth with the day:
Have not the best of battles their disgrace?
They made biers a matter of necessity,
With blades full of vigour in defence of Baptism.
This is best before the alliance of kindred.
Exceedingly great was the bloodshed and death, of which they were the cause,
Before the army of Gododin, when the day occurred.
Is not a double quantity of discretion the best strengthener of a hero?
(Y Gododdin)
***I lived as a warrior before I was a man of letters;
I wandered, I encircled, I slept in a hundred islands, I dwelt in a hundred forts.
Druids, wise one, prophesy to Arthur;
There is what is before, they perceive what has been.
And one occurs in the story of the flood
And Christ's crucifying and then Doomsday.
Golden, golden-skinned, I shall deck myself in riches,
And I shall be in luxury because of the prophecy of Virgil.
(Cad Goddeu, trans, Patrick Ford, 1977)
fy'n galon: my heart
Myn capten, myn brenhin, fy'n galon: My captain, my king, my heart
Bwchia mi: Fuck me (at least, I *think* that's what it means-if anyone knows modern Welsh slang, please correct me if I'm wrong!)
Diolch yn fawr: thanks very much
Summary: They still speak the same language.
Rated: PG
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 778 Read: 799
Published: 08 Aug 2009 Updated: 08 Aug 2009