Author: Pecos
Title: The Call Back
Series: Torn Souls, part 1
Pairing: Orlando Bloom/Viggo Mortensen; Orlando Bloom/Elijah 
Wood
Rating: PG13
Summary: The final days of shooting the Ring Trilogy go horribly 
wrong for Orlando, Elijah, and Viggo. (And I do mean horribly)
Warnings: violence, hurt/comfort
Author's Notes: Aside from the LotR actors, I'm borrowing Rollie 
Tyler from FX: The Series, as he was played by Cameron Daddo, 
the hottest thing to come out of Oz since Hugh Jackman.
Disclaimer: I don't know these people, I don't mean to imply 
that this story is in any way, shape or form true, and I'm doing 
it for fun. Please don't get mad. 


1. Teaser 

God, the flight from Honolulu had been interminable. No matter 
how nice the service was in First Class, you still couldn't 
light a cig, and right now that was his number one priority. 
Orlando was fumbling with his pack as he exited Customs and 
Immigration, parking a smoke in the corner of his mouth. He'd be 
a good boy and not light up until he'd stepped outside the 
Auckland International Airport terminal, but dammit, he was 
counting the seconds. Trying to quit was harder than he'd ever 
imagined. 

Heading for the nearest door, he almost missed the huge dark man 
with the little white sign. MR. BLOOM it said, in cheerful 
lettering. "Is that for me?" the actor inquired, pausing with 
one eye still on the evening sky visible through the glass doors 
beyond. 

"Mister Orlando Bloom?" the enormous man questioned, giving him 
an appraising, friendly look. 

Tall and lean, jet-lagged and dressed like Eurotrash, Orli still 
flashed a dazzling smile. "That's me all right. You're here to 
fetch me?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Imagine New Line springing for a bleedin' car! Very flash." 

The man moved surprisingly fast, divesting Orlando of his carry-
on bag and saying, "Please come this way, Mr. Bloom." 

"Orli, please," he corrected, falling into the wake the big man 
created as he moved smoothly through the crowds. Then they were 
out in the cool New Zealand evening, and Orli could indulge his 
disgusting habit. The man continued towards a stretch limo 
parked imperiously at the curb. A uniformed driver jumped up, 
opening the trunk as they approached. 

"Oy," Orli said, "what about my luggage? Let me just get a few 
drags here and I'll go back and --" "All that will be taken care 
of, sir." 

"Wow," Orli mused, leaning on the car's fender for a moment, 
enjoying the evening and his smoke. "Leave Kiwi for just a 
couple weeks and the studio here goes all posh on me. Next thing 
you know it's going to be a regular Lost Angeles." He studied 
the car with a crooked grin. "White. Who knew they even *had* a 
white limo in Auckland, let alone one to fetch little old Elven 
me? Peter must be planning something really dire for me 
tomorrow." 

Laughing at himself and his lot in life, Orlando turned to his 
greeter and asked, "What's your name, mate?" 

The mountain stirred. "Kahuna, sir." 

"Maori?" 

"Polynesian, sir. We'd best be going, Mr. Bloom. You're 
expected." 

"Oh!" the actor smiled, eyes twinkling. "I like the sound of 
that! Some stinky `Meat' and Greet with the studio brass? I hope 
not, I'd rather see my mates. The Hobbit boys, I'll bet! They'll 
have come up with a party already, won't they?" 

"It's a surprise, sir," Kahuna said. 

"Right." Orli snuffed out his cig, and let the driver usher him 
into the back seat. He sank into the leather appreciatively, 
stretching his long legs. Kahuna entered the car behind him, 
taking the seat at a right angle to Orli's. The actor fancied he 
could feel the car list to port. They pulled away from the curb 
smoothly. 

"I usually dread looping work," Orli said conversationally. "No 
matter how hard you try, it never quite lines up the way it 
should. Then Peter said they were going to have to do a bit of 
re-shoot too, and I knew I'd be seeing the gang again. I mean, 
if something got messed up in post then they're going to have to 
do ensemble shots. It's not like I had a lot of solo stuff. God, 
it's hard to believe how much I miss those bastards. You picked 
up any of the other lads?" 

"No, Mr. Bloom," Kahuna told him. "Just you." 

"Huh." He was watching as the car passed the entrance to the 
circle road, turning through a gateway that lead deeper into 
airport grounds. "Are we getting someone else?" 

Kahuna's big face split in a slow smile. "It's a surprise. 
That's all I can tell you." 

Orli watched as they neared the private jet hangars. "Just my 
luck, I score a flash ride and then have to share it with some 
suited wanker who's too cool to ride commercial. Tell me it's 
not one of the New Line stiffs, please. Have we got any Four X 
in this coach?" 

Kahuna reached across the car to the cooler compartment, popping 
the lid. Orli's attention was on the stylish Falcon business jet 
they were approaching, its door opened invitingly, promising a 
world of luxury inside. "Shite, look at that! Talk about flash!" 

Swinging toward him, Kahuna's hand came up smoothly, but he 
wasn't holding a can of beer. He pressed the stun gun against 
Orlando's abdomen, shooting 200,000 volts into the unsuspecting 
actor. Bloom's body was instantly seized with uncontrollable 
convulsions, head snapping back to the plush leather upholstery 
as his back arched. He may have tried to scream, but even his 
throat muscles clamped tight. 

Kahuna knew exactly what he was doing, giving Orlando just 
enough of a shock to immobilize him. He moved forward with the 
same motion he'd used to deliver the voltage, and caught Orli 
before his convulsions threw him to the floor of the slowing 
car. The big man slid over onto Orlando's seat and rolled his 
stiff body toward him, tugging up the blood red silk shirt and 
jerking a thumb beneath the waistband of the sleek trousers 
which had looked so trendy only moments before. Exposing a swell 
of hip, Kahuna casually reached into his breast pocket and 
removed the hypodermic, flicking the safety cap off with his 
thumb. He slid the needle into Orlando's skin and depressed the 
plunger. 

Pulling the needle free, Kahuna watched as the actor's stiff 
body relaxed, falling face first into his grip. 

The white stretch limo glided to a stop near the plane's wing, 
and the driver came around to open the back door. Kahuna stepped 
out, dragging his limp cargo with an arm around the actor's 
waist. Hiking him over one massive shoulder, the Polynesian 
strolled to the plane's steps and carefully maneuvered through 
the low door. The hatch was sealed; the car pulled away. The 
Falcon's engine wound to life and it taxied into the dusk. 

2. Retainer 

What a hangover. If he could only remember ANYTHING, maybe the 
throbbing in his head would have something to focus on. He 
drifted in and out of sleep for as long as he could, then an 
urgent bladder finally roused the trashed actor. He fumbled 
through the sheets - alone? Must not have been as good as he'd 
hoped. Of course he didn't really expect to find Karl or Viggo 
in his bed, but it would have been interesting if he had. 
Complicated, but interesting. 

He managed to find the toilet, then his cigarettes, then a 
bottle of Evian. Priorities established, Orli looked around the 
posh suite and wondered where he was. The furnishings were far 
nicer than any hotel room he remembered ever seeing in 
Wellington. Maybe this wasn't his room. If only he could 
remember - 

A soft knock at the door, then it swung inward. A smell of food, 
then the huge man stepped into Orli's bedroom, bearing a tray. 
"Good morning Mister Bloom." 

Eyes widening, Orli gasped and stumbled to his feet, backing 
quickly away from the enormous Polynesian man. "You, you…" he 
stammered, sounding as thick as his tongue suddenly felt. 

"It's Kahuna, Sir." 

Realizing that he was wearing only his silk boxers, Orli risked 
taking his eyes off the man long enough to glance down at his 
own abdomen. Two small circular burns, right where he could 
remember Kahuna hitting him with the tazer. "You, psycho! You 
fucking shocked me!" 

The big man had set the tray delicately atop a Louis XIV style 
desk, and was calmly uncovering a selection of dishes. "We don't 
know your tastes yet, sir, so I selected a little of everything 
from the kitchen this morning." His huge fist pulled out the 
delicate chair and he stepped aside, apparently expecting Orli 
to just hop over and tuck right in to breakfast. 

Orli's head was spinning, and for once it wasn't from booze or 
drugs. He fought back a wave of nausea, and spoke as clearly as 
he could. "Where am I?" 

"You're in Sydney, Sir. You'll find a selection of clothes, 
which should fit, in the wardrobe. There is a fully stocked bar 
and refrigerator, and I've brought in a carton of your brand of 
cigarettes. May I suggest restraint in imbibing, however? If you 
need anything, just pick up the phone." Kahuna crossed to the 
door and used a cardkey to let himself out. He paused at the 
sill. "The boss would like to see you in one hour. Please make 
yourself presentable." Just the cock of an eyebrow indicated 
that he thought perhaps a bit of work would be required for 
Orlando to meet the request. The door snicked shut behind him. 

Orli was across the room in a heartbeat, yanking on the door 
handle. Of course, it didn't budge. 

3. Casting Call It was just too unreal. Orlando sat in a wing 
chair near the window, staring out at the expansive lawns and 
gardens of a very big and exceptionally beautiful estate. He was 
trembling. 

After Kahuna had left him, he'd rushed to the bathroom and 
vomited, then he'd explored the suite, finding the steel bars at 
the windows, the elaborate door locking system. He'd nearly 
split his skull trying to remember if he'd done something to 
deserve this treatment. Who could he have offended? What had he 
done? What were they going to do to him? 

All-too-aware of the ticking clock, he'd finally entered the 
shower, scrubbing his skin mercilessly. If he could just wash 
away the sickness and the jetlag, the aches in his muscles and 
the fuzziness in his head…maybe then he could let go of the 
fear. He found the contents of his carry-on bag arranged in 
appropriate places, and the sense of violation was keen. Who had 
touched his razor, the hairbrush, a packet of condoms? What had 
they thought of the dog- eared paperback copy of Atlas Shrugged? 
The clothes in the armoire were of very good quality. A bit 
conservative, well-tailored, the shirts and slacks fit him like 
second skin. How could someone know his measurements? What was 
going to happen next? 

Kahuna had arrived to the minute of his promised return. He'd 
deferred politely, letting the terrified actor precede him out 
the door, then leading him through a vast series of halls and 
rooms, ultimately bringing him to this huge office, indicating a 
seat near the window, placed before an enormous, cluttered desk. 
"The boss will be with you in a moment," Kahuna had told him. 
Orlando didn't speak. He already knew that his questions would 
be answered whenever *they* were ready to answer them. 

A bustle of motion, and a tall, gray-haired man entered from a 
door behind the desk, sheaves of paper in his hand and a thin 
smile on his face. He came around to offer his hand, and Orlando 
automatically rose to return the shake, knowing that his palm 
was slick with sweat. "Good morning, Mister Bloom," the man 
said. His voice and face seemed oddly familiar. Orli didn't have 
to wonder for long. The man took his seat behind the desk, and 
Orli sank back into his own chair. "My name is Grant Marteen, 
and I'm sure you're wondering why I've had you brought here." 

Grant Marteen was well known in the right Australian circles. He 
was a media magnet, owning newspapers, television and film 
interests all across Australia and New Zealand. He was the Down-
Under incarnation of Ted Turner or Richard Branson, and he was 
*way* too powerful and high profile to be engaging in kidnapping 
nobodies like Orlando Bloom. The actor tried to clear his throat 
and suddenly Kahuna was at his side, bearing a sliver tray with 
a glass of iced water. He drank gratefully, the cold liquid 
doing little to ease the tension in his gut. 

Marteen was turning around, and gestured to a painting on the 
wall behind him. "This is my daughter, Sylvie." He studied the 
portrait with a long moment of obvious adoration. The girl was 
very pretty, probably sixteen, just reaching that first blush of 
womanhood. She wore an English riding habit, red riding coat and 
black velvet helmet hiding what looked like a head of blonde 
hair. Her cheeks were flushed with health and a hint of humor 
sparkled in the dark eyes. 

"She's lovely," Orlando said, breaking the reverie. 

"Yes, she is," Marteen sighed, turning back to face his guest. 
"She's dying, Mister Bloom." He didn't wait for the accustomed 
muttering of `I'm sorry', but continued, his voice flat. "She's 
got glioma…brain cancer. It's inoperable." He paused, thin lips 
working. "The degeneration has robbed her of many things, Mister 
Bloom. But she's clinging to something she had come to love. The 
Lord of the Rings was her favorite book, and now that she's seen 
the first movie she's come to, well, obsess on the story." 

Orlando wanted to ask what that had to do with him…but he could 
tell that the answer was coming. He also knew that he wasn't 
going to like it.

"I'm a blunt man, Mister Bloom, so I'll just get to the point. 
My beautiful Sylvie has slipped into a world of her own. She 
believes, truly believes, that this world is real, and that she 
is the Elf Princess Arwen. She lives in this deluded state, and 
I indulge it because she is the only thing in the world that 
really matters to me. She thinks she's wasting away because of 
the evil influence of Sauron." He caught the incredulous look on 
Orli's face. "Oh yes, I know…. I've had to educate myself on 
every aspect of this fantasy. I even invested in your movie when 
things were getting tight during the third installment filming - 
just to be sure you got the damn thing finished. Now it looks 
like Sylvie is not going to live long enough to see it." 

A moment of anger darkened the big man's face; he caught himself 
and continued. "She's dying. The cancer has spread. My doctors 
don't know how much longer Sylvie has, but they say it could be 
mere days." Kahuna appeared again, this time setting a tumbler 
of amber liquid near his boss's hand, retreating soundlessly. 
"I've recreated the bedroom at Rivendell - the one where Frodo 
recovered - and that's where Sylvie lives. She's deeply 
delusional, Mister Bloom. She's asking to see her imaginary 
friends. She's asked to see Legolas." 

Kahuna came into view again, setting something on the corner of 
the desk nearest to Orlando. As he moved away the actor focused 
on the pile of clothing. It was his Elven garments; complete 
from gauntlets and leggings to the beautiful cloak he'd worn in 
the council scene at Rivendell. "Oh, God…no bleeding way," he 
stammered, finally understanding. "No, no way I could…" 

"I did try to engage you through conventional channels," Marteen 
was continuing, his voice apologetic. "My people approached your 
agent several times. I offered truly astronomical amounts of 
money." Orlando suddenly recalled hysterical calls from his 
management, speculation that the offers were obviously a joke. 
It had all come to nothing, since the dates were superceeded by 
shooting for the Return of the King. The call back had to come 
first. After all, the Lord of the Rings had made Orlando Bloom's 
career, such as it was. 

"This can't be happening," Orli mused. His anger finally 
outpaced fear. "You mean you had me fucking KIDNAPPED so I could 
visit your sick daughter? What kind of maniac are you, Marteen?" 

"A desperate one." The voice was suddenly very cold. "Don't fuck 
with me, Mister Bloom. I am out of time. You're going to do this 
thing for me, and you're going to do it right. You'll do 
everything I tell you to, and when you're done and I say you can 
go you'll be taken back to New Zealand with an extremely 
handsome check in your pocket. If you fail to cooperate or do 
ANYTHING to upset or harm Sylvie I will have you killed. Period. 
Do I make myself clear?" He didn't wait for an answer from the 
stunned actor. He threw the sheets of paper down in front of 
Orlando. "Here's your script. Learn it. You've got a couple of 
hours. Kahuna will introduce you to the makeup man I've 
acquired. Don't disappoint me, Mister Bloom." He rose and left 
through the door he'd entered by. 

4. Character Test The pages were drivel. He'd read better dialog 
off the LotR's websites. Several courtly speeches in which 
Legolas recited facts about the defeat of Sauron and the success 
of the Ringbearer, and a long-winded pledging of love and 
allegiance to the Lady Arwen. He memorized the pages more to 
calm himself than out of fear for what would happen if he 
didn't. Grant Marteen was clearly insane. And yet, the threat to 
kill Orli had sounded too much like truth, and the actor 
believed he was just powerful enough to do it -- and maybe even 
get away with it. 

Kahuna brought him lunch, `tut-tut'ing over the untouched 
breakfast tray. Maybe eating would ease his dizziness. After 
all, he hadn't had anything since the flight from Honolulu, 
about a million years ago. His system was still obviously upset 
from the drugs and the tazering. Orlando let Kahuna seat him 
this time, finding a very nice grilled salmon steak with fresh 
vegetables and salad beneath the porcelain dish covers. 

"You're going to need your strength, sir," Kahuna told him 
ominously. 

He couldn't resist asking the question lurking in a particularly 
dark corner of his mind. "Are you going to hurt me, Kahuna?" 

"Not unless the boss says to, Mister Bloom." 

Well…that was certainly reassuring. He forced himself to eat 
anyway. The food was excellent. Kahuna even supplied a brilliant 
white wine to go with the meal. Leaving him to eat, Kahuna went 
away, returning in half an hour. 

"We'd like you to try your makeup now, Mister Bloom." 

Orlando accompanied the human mountain on another trek through 
the vast building, arriving in a studio on the second floor. 

"Hello!" called a very tall, attractive young man, turning from 
a table of equipment as they entered. He snatched a cloth to 
clean his hands, coming forward. "Rollie Tyler, special effects 
technician." The accent was pure Oz. 

"I've heard of you," Orli admitted, wondering how much weirder 
this could possibly get. "You've got a company out of New York. 
I didn't realize that you were an Aussie." 

"Born and bred. This isn't my usual gig, obviously," he actually 
winked at Kahuna. "I've been, shall we say `recruited', to do 
your Elf makeup. Guess they thought anyone from your production 
company would likely tell somebody where you'd offed to." 

"You're also here against your will?" Orli questioned. 

"Sort of. Grant Marteen hired me fair and square; with enough up 
front that `no questions asked' seemed like a reasonable thing. 
I'm used to secrecy in my line. Of course, when they explained 
the job to me I declined the contract." He laughed with self-
amusement, gesturing Orli towards a professional chair set 
before a bank of mirrors, looking like someone's idea of a butch 
beauty parlor. 

"You said no?" Orli asked, confused. "Then what happened?" 

Rollie's mobile face set for a moment. "Then Kahuna beat the 
living shit out of me. He's real fast for someone that size, 
aren't you, Big Guy." 

"Yes I am, Mister Tyler," commented the man in question. 

"Please sit down, Orlando," Rollie said. "I hope you don't mind 
me calling you that. I figure we're pretty much brothers here. 
You know, I saw you in that arthouse flick, `Wilde'. You were 
really good in that, mate. The Elf thing suits you too. I heard 
you were up for Faromir -- that would have been a bleedin' 
disaster. Jackson knows what he's doing when it comes to 
casting. The Elijah Wood thing is perfect, really perfect. Got 
some amazing effects in that first movie. I can hardly wait to 
see the sequels, though it's a shame they didn't hire me for the 
Orcs. I could do some really amazing things with Orcs." 

Tyler was obviously covering his nerves with chatter. As Orlando 
sat back in the familiar chair he noticed the bruises here and 
there on Rollie's body, the stiff way he moved. Orli squeezed 
his eyes shut, confirming his own fears. Fingers touched the 
side of his face and he couldn't help but jump. 

"Sorry," Rollie said sincerely. "I understand. I won't sneak up 
on you again. You know, the ears are going to be the tough part. 
They stole your hair from the set," he gestured toward the 
familiar wig, sitting innocently on a stand a few feet away, 
"but the ears were either missing or they couldn't find `em." He 
fingered Orlando's lobes, considering the problem. "I think 
we'll start with an impression." 

"Not that!" Orli said quickly, remembering the discomfort of 
having his face modeled in what was laughingly called a `death-
mask' so the Lords makeup team could build different trial 
techniques for his character. It had been a grueling, 
claustrophobic and disturbing process, and he just didn't think 
he could bear it again in his current state. 

Kahuna shifted significantly, and both men turned a wary glance 
his way. "I won't need a full face," Rollie hurriedly said. 
"We'll just do a quick bang impression of your ears. I can build 
from that. It won't be too bad, I promise." He smiled, trying to 
give reassurance to the scared actor. "It's going to be okay," 
he said much more softly. "We'll get through this." 

5. Audition 

Orlando was drifting in the mindless state of having someone 
manipulate your features for an extended time. Almost two hours 
had passed, and Rollie Tyler had proven to be amazingly 
talented. He'd fashioned the ear tips from scratch, mixing his 
own latex compounds and sculpting the delicate pseudo-skin like 
a surgeon. He paused after trying Orlando's hair a couple of 
different times. "I can't seem to get this to sit right," he 
complained, comparing his work to a folder filled with publicity 
and marketing shots. "Are you sure this was your wig?" 

Orli cracked an eye to examine the object in question. "Like I 
wouldn't recognize the bane of my existence. Blonds have more 
fun my arse. Oh, of course, the hair. There's a reason. They had 
my own hair cut in sort of a Mohawk to give a bit more lift, 
said it made me look taller, stretch my features a bit. You 
wouldn't have believed the number of `meetings' it took to iron 
that silliness out." 

Tyler was nodding. "I can see it now. I don't think we're going 
to have to do anything as drastic as that, I'll MacGyver 
something." He turned to find Kahuna standing in the exact spot 
he'd taken up when he'd delivered Orli so long before. "Kahuna, 
can you get me some feminine sanitary pads? The old fashioned 
kind, not with wings and whatever crap they have on `em now. 
Real thick ones." 

The Polynesian didn't leave, but he did speak to someone on the 
phone. Rollie got his sanitary pads in a few minutes. Apparently 
no request would go unanswered. "Here, let's try this," Tyler 
said, resting a pad atop Orli's head. 

"You're daft," the actor snorted, sneaking a look in the mirror. 
He looked like a total idiot with that thing perched on his 
head. 

"Old Klingon trick," Rollie said, gently maneuvering the wig 
into place. "Not only does it shape the wig, but it does a bang-
up job of absorbing sweat, extending the time you can go between 
touch-ups." He concentrated on affixing the scalp line, combing 
individual hairs into place with a toothbrush. After several 
more minutes, Tyler stepped back to view his work. He fetched a 
digital camera from an open equipment case and snapped several 
photos of Orlando, then, loaded them onto a laptop and did 
something to overlay them with a set of makeup test photos that 
had obviously been taken from New Line. A few more adjustments 
to color and appliances, then Rollie nodded to himself. "That's 
it." 

Orlando turned to view himself in the mirror. It was a shock, 
seeing Legolas staring back. The job was perfection, possibly 
even better than the Rings crew had done, and in maybe half the 
time. 

"Do you need help dressing?" Tyler asked. 

"Only with things which go over my head," Orli responded. His 
voice had already switched to that of his character. 

Kahuna seemed fascinated by the dressing process. "If he tells 
me I'm pretty I'll pass out," Orlando whispered to himself as he 
tugged at his gauntlets. He took one last inspection in the 
mirror, and it was Legolas Green-leaf gazing back at him from 
calm, Elven eyes. 

Picking up the phone again, Kahuna told someone simply, "He's 
ready." He led Orli out the door and down the hallway, the Elf's 
soft boots making no sound on the expensive carpet. Another 
marathon tour of the estate, and they arrived at an ornate door 
with a uniformed security officer standing guard. Grant Marteen 
was waiting for them, and he inspected Orlando like he was 
considering buying him. 

"This is excellent," Marteen finally agreed. "Tyler is worth the 
money. You remember your lines, Mister Bloom?" 

He wanted to say something smart -- something Elven. The actor 
inside the Elf was afraid. "Yes." 

"I'm sure you'll have to improvise. Just remember, if you screw 
up or upset her I'm going to have Kahuna hurt you. You do 
believe that I'll do that, don't you?" 

"Yes," he said again, trying to retreat behind the calm of his 
character. Nothing could hurt Legolas. He was immortal. He was 
immune to the pain and threats of mere humans. 

"Okay," Marteen said, taking a deep breath. "Don't be alarmed by 
the equipment. She's on a subclavian TPN drip. She thinks it's 
there to combat Sauron's evil spell. Don't speak to the nurse. 
We pretend she's not there." He nodded to the security man, and 
the door was opened on silent hinges. Marteen strode in with an 
air of belonging, and Orli reluctantly followed. 

They had done an incredible job of reproducing the Rivendell 
set. Only this time it was in three dimensions, with walls where 
there'd been none and ornamentation that bore far closer 
inspection than typical movie backdrops. A breeze was blowing 
the gauzy curtains covering a window that framed an image of the 
waterfalls, and the sound of the water carried on humidified 
air. The whole thing was so perfect that Orli found himself 
thinking, "This is exactly the way it was in Middle-earth." His 
attention was finally drawn to the small figure in the massive 
bed. 

She was lovely, or at least she had been before the ravages of 
the cancer had stolen her youth. Nearly hidden, tubes came up 
over the elaborate headboard, disappearing down the front of the 
girl's expensive gown. Her hair was long and dark; probably a 
wig, and her cheeks were lightly rouged to cover the pallor of 
her horrible illness. Orlando's heart seized with pity, and for 
the first time since this whole thing had started, he forgot to 
think of himself at all. 

Marteen was speaking to the girl. "Lady Arwen, I have answered 
your request. On this day the Elf Legolas has arrived to tell 
you how things fared in Mordor." 

"Finally!" she gasped, excitedly, life entering the dull eyes. 
She turned her head and saw him there, and her face lit with 
brilliance. "Legolas Green-leaf, Prince of Mirkwood! I welcome 
you back to Rivendell!" 

Legolas stepped to her side, moving like a cat, bowing deeply. 
"My Lady Arwen, Evenstar, I beg your forgiveness. I have ridden 
hard to bring you news of the Battle for the Ring, and of your 
true beloved, Aragorn, King of Gondor…." 

Hours passed, his lines long since delivered and forgotten, and 
still Legolas spoke with Arwen. He would stand silent at the 
foot of her bed when she was too tired to continue, or when the 
unobtrusive nurse had to touch her or adjust something. The 
nurse was dressed as an Elf too, though not with any great 
skill. It had been the characters Sylvie remembered from the 
movie that had to be perfect. And Legolas was perfect. The actor 
was so deeply into his character that it was a rude awakening 
when Marteen took his arm. "I said, Lord of Mirkwood, that you 
must be tired and need respite." A raised brow brought Orlando 
back to reality. 

"Indeed, I am afraid that I must beg my lady's leave. There are 
so many things I must report on to Lord Elrond." 

"Of course you may go, my Sindarin Prince. But I beg, you must 
return to me again tomorrow and tell me off all that has passed 
with my beloved Aragorn." She closed her eyes, obviously 
exhausted. 

Legolas shook off Marteen's touch, as imperiously as any Elven 
Prince would, and took his leave of Rivendell. He almost 
collapsed as the door sighed shut behind them. Marteen snatched 
the wig off his own head and stared at Orlando with a new hint 
of respect. "You're a better actor than I expected. You think 
you can improvise tomorrow? That scriptwriter I've got hasn't 
got half the lingo down that you do." 

"I'll do what I can," Orli said, feeling very strange inside. 

6. Backlot 

Elijah Wood was using a thick marker to write an obscene 
limerick on the side of Billy Boyd's dressing room trailer. His 
bottom lip was caught between his teeth as he struggled to find 
a rhyme for `rippin'. 

"I liked the one you wrote about Boromir's Horn of Gondor," said 
Dominic Monaghan, stepping up to appraise the work. "Bean drew a 
frame around it." 

"Bean was cool. It sucks that we had to kill him off." Elijah 
sighed. 

"Hey, you make a grab for the Ring and you're outta here," Billy 
explained. "Thing I couldn't understand was why they didn't axe 
that hussy Galadreil. God, she had the hots for young Frodo." 

"I *tried* to give her the Ring. She wouldn't take it. First 
time in the history of man that a woman didn't snatch the 
jewelry and run like hell." 

"Oooo, bitter for one so young," Billy laughed. "Try `sippin'. 
You heard about Elf Boy?" 

Elijah forgot his poem for the moment. "Orlando? Where was he 
this morning? Nothing wrong, I hope." 

"Nobody seems to know. I hear he came in two days ago, and never 
arrived here. They found his luggage sitting in the lost bags at 
the airport in Auckland. It's really strange, even for Orli." 

"He met someone on the flight," Elijah decided. "He's shacked up 
on some sheep station, shagging himself stupid with a local." 
Any other possibility was too scary to consider. "You know what 
he's like," Elijah continued, trying to sound wiser than his 
years. "He'll turn up with that shit-eating grin and Peter'll 
forgive him, Ian'll give him one of those knowing winks, and ten 
thousand new Elf fans will write him their undying devotion and 
send teddy bears." 

"Yeah…I hope." 

Viggo Mortensen stepped up behind Billy, looking like he'd just 
rolled out of bed. "Try `his ass like a pancake, for flippin.'" 

"You're the man, Vig," Elijah enthused. 

7. Improvisation 

"…and thus did Ellesar strike him down, cleaving his head with a 
single blow of his mighty sword arm. And the halflings were safe 
once again." 

"Ohhh," Sylvie sighed, closing her eyes and turning her head 
into the pillow. "You don't know how much it means to me having 
you here, Legolas." 

`I'm starting to understand,' the actor thought to himself, 
surfacing for a moment, only to be pressed beneath the weight of 
Legolas' personality once again as the Lady Arwen recovered 
herself and sought his eyes. 

"But Frodo survived. Surely he is on his way here now. We can 
heal him of that dreaded Nazgûl blade. This is a place of 
healing." 

"Indeed it is, Evenstar. But many needs pull at the Ringbearer." 

"He does mean to return to us, doesn't he?" she said with more 
animation. 

"When the time is right," Legolas said. `Over my dead body,' 
thought Orli. 

She sat up straighter, gazing at him intently. Only Orli's trust 
in Rollie Tyler's skill kept him from squirming under the 
scrutiny. Besides, Elves didn't squirm. "There is something 
missing, my Prince of Mirkwood," she said. He tipped his head, 
afraid to even wonder. "Your Elven bow. You are unarmed. I have 
never seen you without your weapons, Legolas." 

Whew. "I've had enough of fighting and weapons for even an 
immortal lifetime, Lady Arwen. And, as you said, this is a place 
of healing. Rivendell should not be touched by the darkness 
which has so gripped our lands." 

"Of course," she sighed. "But it always seemed such a part of 
you. You are weary, as we all are. If only this curse of Sauron 
had not struck me so low…" 

"You will recover, my Lady. You will stand at Aragorn's side as 
the Queen of Gondor." 

"What I wouldn't give just to be out of this chamber," she said 
softly, eyes drifting shut again. "Riding my steed through the 
forests. I miss my horse. You don't suppose they could bring him 
here so I could see him again, do you?" 

Orli chanced a look towards the nurse. Her face bore a distinct 
mortification. "Your horses are in the high pastures, Lady 
Arwen, safely away from the risk of being found by Orcs." He was 
tired, and starting to loose his edge. This was the third day 
he'd played the charade, and there were only so many stories he 
could remember. Best to withdraw. Besides, Sylvie was looking 
decidedly gray today, her skin seeming as thin as rice paper. On 
impulse, he rose and went to her side, bending over the huge bed 
to place a kiss on her forehead. "I must leave you now, my 
beloved Evenstar." 

"Return soon, Legolas Green-leaf. I would see the Ringbearer if 
it is possible. I would give him the thanks and accolades of our 
people." 

"He knows, Lady, he knows." The Elf turned and strode 
confidently from her chamber. 

The security guard closed the door behind him and Orlando let 
the starch out of his spine. Thank god that was over with, for a 
while at least. Maybe if he could re-read some of the Two Towers 
he'd find something new for a story. She never got tired of the 
stories. Surely Kahuna could get him a copy of the book. Orli 
looked around, suddenly realizing that he was unescorted in the 
corridor. The uniformed guard was talking to a deliveryman who 
was apparently there to remove an empty oxygen tank. They 
finished their discussion and Orlando fell in beside the medical 
equipment man as they started down the corridor. 

After they'd gone several yards Orli started speaking very 
quickly. "Don't look at me," he begged. "You've got to help me! 
I'm being held prisoner here. I'm an actor. My name is Orlando 
Bloom. You've got to call the police, or call Peter - call New 
Line Pictures -- or someone in New Zealand. They kidnapped me 
and -- " 

"Ha ha ha," boomed an enormous voice behind him. Orlando froze 
as the giant hand fell to his shoulder. "He's such a kidder, 
this one!" Kahuna laughed. 

The deliveryman joined in the laughter. "You do know that you're 
dressed up as the tooth fairy, don't you, mate?" He and Kahuna 
chortled and guffawed, then the man continued on his way. 
Orlando leaned forward, starting to follow, but the hand on his 
shoulder turned into a grip of iron, pinching the nerve in his 
neck so hard that spots swam before his eyes. 

"Wave at the nice man," Kahuna instructed, still laughing as the 
deliveryman reached the end of the hall and turned for one last 
laugh as he took the corner. Kahuna expertly twisted Orlando's 
arm up behind his back and started marching him towards Tyler's 
workshop. "I understand that these clothes are delicate, and the 
makeup must be carefully removed. We will do that first." 

"First?" Orli asked, walking on tiptoe as he tried to ease the 
shooting pain in his shoulder. 

"You've disappointed me," Kahuna told him. "And the boss said 
you were working out so well…this makes me sad." 

Rollie Tyler knew that something had happened. He chattered non-
stop while gently removing the wig, ears and makeup, talking 
about movies he'd worked on and his fabulous studio in New York. 
"Angie told me this morning that they're doing a remake of 
`Forbidden Planet'. What I wouldn't give to be on that effects 
team!" Tyler enthused. 

"You're talking to your assistant?" Orli asked, incredulous. 
"And she doesn't know that you're being kept here against your 
will." 

Tyler's eyes darted to where Kahuna stood near the door. Just a 
moment of fear there. "God, I hope she doesn't suspect anything. 
That's the last thing in the world I want. If she finds out 
she'll likely come down here, in which case they'll be able to 
hurt her. Even if she just makes trouble, I'm told they have 
someone who will go to the studio and hurt her. The thing I'm 
trying to avoid is this whole hurt thing. Not my Angie." It was 
obvious that Rollie had deep feelings for his assistant. "It's 
been hard enough to keep her safe there as it is. Marteen isn't 
fooling around, Orlando. You don't know his kind the way I do." 

When they were finished Orli put his clothes on and stood, 
taking a deep breath. "Gentlemen," Kahuna said softly from the 
door. "If you'll please come with me." Rollie and Orlando 
followed with great trepidation, sensing that something 
unpleasant was about to occur. 

Grant Marteen was waiting for them in a spacious Trophy Room, 
looking quite at home among the dead, mounted animals. 

"I'm having them retrieve your bow from the Props Department at 
Weta, Mister Bloom," he said without preamble. "I assume you can 
handle it convincingly. You did an acceptable job today." His 
eyes grew sad. "She's growing weaker. She asks about Frodo. 
Perhaps you could play some sort of game." He was lost in 
contemplation for a moment. 

Just as he'd suspected, Orlando realized that he was being 
observed whenever he was alone with Sylvie. Come to think of it, 
they were probably watching him in his suite as well. Just how 
complicated was this set-up? 

"About your indiscretion with the Medical Supply company," Grant 
started, taking a deep breath. "I can't afford to have you 
damaged right now. Sylvie is too delicate." 

The words hadn't even left his mouth when Orlando heard the 
peculiar snapping sound of the tazer, and Rollie Tyler fell to 
the ground beside him, twisting in agony. Kahuna pursued him 
down, applying brutal shocks to the small of his back. 

"No!" Orli screamed, launching himself at the huge Polynesian. 
That was a mistake, and he got the tazer in his gut for the 
effort. Then, while Orli twisted on the floor in agony, Kahuna 
proceeded to deliver several bone crunching blows to the near-
unconscious effects man. 

"Not too much," Marteen warned his hired thug. "He has to be 
able to work tomorrow. You see, Mister Bloom. There are 
consequences. Your pretty face I still need, so Mister Tyler 
bears the punishment of your sin. Don't let it happen again." 

Orlando couldn't answer, his throat locked tight in agony from 
the shock, tears coursing from his eyes. Kahuna seemed to have 
finished his work. He bent over and effortlessly lifted Rollie 
over one shoulder. 

"Take him to his room," Grant instructed. "I'll send the doctor. 
I'll also have one of the men escort Mister Bloom here back to 
his. Perhaps we can expect better cooperation from them 
tomorrow." 

8. Best Boy 

Knocking lightly at the door, Viggo Mortensen stuck his head 
into the room. "Peter, could I just have a word?" 

He was surprised to find that the Director was alone. Usually 
Peter Jackson had a swarm of people around him, circling like 
satellites, beeping and humming and waiting for attention. 
Moving to his side, Viggo noticed the crumpled sheets of paper, 
the scribbled notes and a cell phone that had obviously been 
smashed to pieces against some immovable object. 

"I take it this isn't a good time," Viggo mused, turning to go. 

"Sit down, Vig," Peter told him, sounding incredibly tired. He 
scratched his beard, then his belly, then turned big, soft eyes 
on the star of his movie. "This has been a shitty day." 

"I'm sorry," Viggo offered. "Still no sign of Orlando?" 

"Oh, it just gets worse and worse. Weta tells me that his bow 
and quiver are missing from their storage facility." 

"His what? Why would someone take them?" 

"Its not just that, Vig. You see, some of the Legolas costume 
went missing three days ago, about the time that Orlando did. I 
didn't tell anyone."

The actor tried to guess what that implied. "Well, things do get 
lost and stolen around here. Maybe it's on E-Bay already. Have 
you checked?" 

"His costume, his wig, and now his weapons. Viggo, you and I 
both know Orlando well enough to realize that this isn't a 
prank. He's missed two days of filming now. There's something 
really serious going on. His mum called me, and about six guys, 
his agent, an aunt…
no one's heard from him. He walked off his flight at A.I.A. and 
into thin air. I know you all think Orli is a wild party animal 
who'd do anything for a kick, but when it came to the work he 
was always totally professional. I'm extremely worried." 

Viggo took a deep breath. "I've got a bad feeling about it too, 
Peter. Have you called the police?" 

"I've been talking to them for two days now. They're not taking 
it terribly seriously. After all, he's an adult. He's here on a 
work visa. He's English, and he's an actor. It's not like I've 
gotten a ransom demand or anything. The studio is sending a 
private investigator, but how fast do you think some cop from 
L.A. is going to get up to speed here? They might as well not 
bother." 

"I wish there was something I could do, Peter." 

"There is. Keep quiet. I don't need the rest of the cast 
freaking out over this. All I can hope is that he turns up in 
one piece. This has been a nightmare since that color separation 
accident messed up seven minutes of film and I had to issue the 
call back." 

Viggo rose, then paused to pat the director on his heavily-
burdened shoulder. "I'll keep an eye on the lads. You see what 
we can shoot around Legolas." 

"I suppose we could change Tolkien's story -- have the Elf get 
killed before the final scene. You think anyone would notice?" 

"Probably," Viggo sighed. "The fans can be sticklers about 
things like that. Why not have Frodo lose the Ring in a poker 
game?" 

Peter snorted. "I wish." 

9. Prop Man 

Rollie's hands were shaking. Orli took a deep breath and caught 
one. "I'm sorry," he said, holding the bright eyes. "I'm truly 
sorry." 

"It's nothing," Tyler said, flicking a smile. "It's not like 
you're the one who was hitting me." He pulled free of Orlando's 
touch, turning to lay out the tools of his trade. 

"But it's my fault," Orli said flatly. "I never should have…I 
should have known it wouldn't be that simple. I just had to 
try…." 

"I understand. Could you shave, please? That beard kinda ruins 
the whole Elf thing." 

"Rollie, I'm going to do everything they ask me to." Glancing at 
their warden, hunched in the door like a troll, Orli spoke as 
softly as he could. "She looks terrible. She can't last much 
longer, the poor thing. I think it's almost cruel to drag this 
whole thing out the way we are." 

"Shave." Tyler lifted a tray covered with bottles, wincing in 
pain as he did so. Orli wished to hell it had been himself who'd 
received the brunt of Kahuna's attention. He thought about what 
he'd like to do to that monstrous creep, using his own tazer 
gun. 

Rollie was gluing a delicate earlobe when Kahuna could be heard 
speaking to someone at the door. The actor and the makeup artist 
both turned paranoid glances, and Kahuna came towards them. 

"Mister Bloom," he said, holding out Legolas' bow and quiver. 
"The boss wants you to have these with you today." 

"How the fuck did you get your hands on this?" Orli asked, 
taking the bow and running his hands over its well-remembered 
length, strumming the bowstring. 

Kahuna didn't answer, returning to his post. Orli clutched the 
bow for a moment before letting Rollie set it aside. It was 
heavy and solid -- not the rubber version they used for long 
shots. This was the bow he used in extreme close-up, the one 
which really worked. He eyed the quiver, wondering if the arrows 
were the rubber ones used on set, or if they'd grabbed the ones 
he could actually shoot. No doubt they had no idea that he had 
trained in archery for this part. Had Marteen and Kahuna 
actually just armed their prisoner? 

"I can hear the wheels turning," Rollie said under his breath. 
No doubt he knew that it wasn't a simple non-working prop. 

Orli didn't know what to tell him. He wanted to assure the 
special effects man that he wouldn't try anything that could get 
them hurt again. But he knew that wasn't true. So, apparently, 
did Tyler. "All I ask is that you choose your time better…next 
time," Rollie whispered in his ear. "The stakes are high." 

What neither of them realized was that they were about to go 
higher. 

10. Dialogue 

Sean Astin caught the group of actors outside one of the big 
sound stages, running up with a leather valise and looking for 
all the world like he was on his way to the office instead of a 
date with the `Dreaded Production Team.' "Hey guys," he said, 
matching their sauntering pace. "I got another batch of stories 
off the internet!" 

"Oh God," sighed Viggo, rolling his eyes. "You're like some 
crazed porn junkie, you know that?" 

"The term," Dominic corrected, "is Pervy Hobbit Fancier, Vig. 
I'd appreciate it if you'd make a note of that." 

"He makes note of everything," Billy said. 

"Where do these women get their ideas?" questioned the studio 
assistant who'd been sent to fetch the group. She'd been privy 
to one of their `read `em and weep' parties some months ago. 

"You have to admit, we set ourselves up for it," observed 
Dominic. "These movies are about the gayest thing to come from 
down under since Priscilla." 

Viggo huffed indignantly. "Pardon me?" 

"Well, we've got Peter at the helm; good Sir Ian and his band of 
sexy boyfriends, and a bunch of sweaty men - some in tights." 
Dominic was ticking off fingers, "half the cast is gay, openly 
or otherwise, and the other half…." 

"I.H.P., Dom," John Rhys-Davies interrupted. 

Elijah huffed, "Oh, that's not fair!" 

"I.H.P.?" questioned the young assistant. 

"Impressionable Hobbit Present," Viggo said under his breath. 

"Knock it off, grandpa!" Elijah complained. "I want to find out 
what the other half does!" 

"I'm not touching that one," Sean said. 

"Good idea," several of the actors said in unison. They passed a 
group of Union Guys, sitting around doing `Union Stuff,' as the 
actors liked to refer to anyone obviously slacking off. 

Elijah waited until they'd gotten out of hearing range before 
adding, "You guys underestimate us Hobbits, you know. Haven't 
you heard what they say about men with big, big hairy feet?" 

"That they'll still look like jail bait in fifteen years," Viggo 
speculated. 

Dominick gestured toward Sean's valise. "So, who's the Elf 
shagging this time?" 

"I hope it's me!" Billy said, swooning impressively. 

"No, no, me, me!" Karl pleaded. 

"You know, I hope Orli really is off shagging somebody," Elijah 
said. The group fell utterly silent; the only sound being the 
scrape of their combined footfalls. 

"Way to go, Lija," Dominic finally said. 

"Leave him alone," Viggo instructed. "Let's just get through 
this meeting with the Orcs-in-Suits, then we can sit down for a 
circle jerk with Sean's Internet Ring porn." 

"You guys really do that?" the assistant asked as they arrived 
at the correct soundstage. 

"No!" laughed John Rhys-Davies, gesturing gallantly toward the 
dark interior of the massive building. The cast filed through 
the narrow gap left in the huge door, Elijah last. The young 
actor paused inside to let his eyes adjust, listening to his 
friends' banter as they proceeded into the cavernous space. 

"Hey, Lija," called a soft voice behind him. "Come here, I've 
got something you have to see." 

He didn't recognize the speaker, but moved toward the sound of 
the voice with a smile starting on his face. Offers like that 
always seemed to prove very educational, to say the least. 

A firm hand fell to his shoulder and steered him behind the 
wooden braces supporting the mock wall of an interior flat. 
Another hand was over his mouth before he could protest. Someone 
grabbed him around the chest, lifting his feet clear of the 
ground, and Elijah started struggling in earnest, kicking and 
squirming. The sharp stab of a needle near his hip, and a 
burning sensation under the skin was the last thing Elijah Wood 
felt. 

11. Close-up 

He must have fallen asleep writing notes on the Return of the 
King. Something roused him, and Orlando found himself face down 
on his scribbling at the Louis XIV desk. He drew a deep breath 
and stretched, scanning the empty suite with the paranoia that 
was becoming second nature to him already. No one had taken the 
dinner dishes yet, which seemed odd. Usually they disappeared as 
soon as he'd finished. He reached over to snag the remaining 
piece of garlic bread, chewing without enjoying. He'd have to 
ask about workout facilities if they were going to keep him any 
longer. Doing sit-ups and calisthenics in his room was starting 
to lose its spartan appeal. 

A strange noise carried to him from the hallway, something that 
raised the hair on the back of his neck. It sounded vaguely 
familiar, but was too faint for him to identify. 

Orlando rose and paced his rooms, stopping to admire the night 
sky out his barred window. The glow on the horizon was obviously 
a suburb of Sydney. He could see a line of streetlamps in the 
distance. They weren't that far from the city. If he could get 
outside…. 

A knock at the door interrupted his speculations. Since when did 
they knock? 

"Yes?" 

One of the uniformed guards opened the door. "Mister Bloom, 
Kahuna wants to know if you can help him with -- " 

"Help! Help me!" the scream carried clearly. Orli's breath 
caught, and he started forward. "Someone help me!" 

"Lija!" Orlando yelled, running for the door and shoving past 
the guard. 

Kahuna had Elijah cornered in an alcove about twenty meters down 
the hall. The Polynesian seemed at a loss as to how he could 
catch the small man without hurting him. "Lija!" Orlando 
screamed, running towards them. 

"Orli!" Elijah squirted past Kahuna like an eel, and launched 
himself into Orlando's arms, babbling semi-coherently. 

"It's all right," Orlando tried to assure him, spinning so that 
his back was presented to Kahuna, trying to shield Elijah from 
the huge man. Elijah's grip was like steel, and then just as 
suddenly it went lax, and Orlando realized that he was holding a 
limp body. 

"Lija! Hey, say something, Halfling! Lij?" 

"It's the drugs," Kahuna said calmly, leaning over Orlando's 
shoulder to look down at the small, puzzled face staring up at 
him blankly. "He'll be all right. His room is this way." 

Realizing that they weren't trying to kill Elijah after all, 
Orlando still refused to release his hold. "You're not touching 
him again! I'll take him to my room." He started moving before 
Kahuna could voice a reason to stop him, holding Elijah against 
his chest. 

The young actor was stirring groggily by the time Orlando laid 
him on the bed. Orli immediately turned to stand in front of 
Kahuna and the two security guards who'd followed them into the 
room. "If you hurt him - in any way - I swear to God I'll kill 
you!" He'd never heard himself talk like that before, and 
somehow they knew he wasn't acting. "If I have to do it with my 
bare hands I'll kill you, you sick fuckers!" 

The guards retreated. Kahuna stood his ground, finally speaking. 
"I'll ask the boss if it's all right you keep the little one for 
now. I'm going to send the doctor to check him. He didn't 
respond well to the drug." 

"I mean it," Orlando repeated. "Lay one hand on him…." 

Kahuna turned and left, closing the door quietly. Orlando stood 
there for a long moment, his fists clenched and his breathing 
ragged. 

"Orli, you're alive," Elijah muttered. 

"Shhh," he urged, sinking to the comforter at Elijah's side. 
"Are you hurt?" 

"No. I don't know how I got here. I remember a little airplane, 
and a car…" he drifted off for a moment. "How did you find me, 
Orli?" 

Orlando's face was still hot. So, they'd decided to bring the 
hobbit into their sick set-up. Well, why not the whole cast? 
Shit, they could do a road show of the Lord of the Rings, going 
from hospice to hospice all over the world. He stroked Elijah's 
hair, trying not to disturb him. The best thing would be to let 
him sleep it off. 

"I've got to call my mom," Lija said sleepily. "She's a 
worrier." 

12. The Gaffer 

The doctor turned out to be a woman. She examined the semi-
conscious actor while Orli paced. "He'll be all right," she 
determined. "This morphine and inapsine gives some people a 
rather uneven reaction. You were out like a light even after you 
arrived. This young man just has an overactive system. He looks 
underweight to me. He could use a vitamin shot." 

"And I need to quit smoking." Orlando's eyes narrowed angrily. 
"What kind of `doctor' does this sort of thing? How can you 
possibly have anything to *do* with Grant Marteen?" 

"He put me through Medical School," she told him defensively. 
"He's paid for an incredible amount of research on 
Oligodendroglioma. His daughter's case is providing an 
invaluable research opportunity." 

"He's a psycho!" Orli snapped. "I didn't realize that they don't 
have the Hippocratic oath in Australia." 

She gathered her things to go. "You obviously don't see the big 
picture, Mister Bloom." 

"And you're obviously looking the other way." He glared at the 
closing door. "Bitch." 

He dimmed the lights and curled up on the bed next to Elijah, 
pulling a spare blanket around the young man's shoulders. How 
many times had he speculated about sharing a bed with this kid, 
this wild young actor who was just getting out in the world? Now 
the thought made him shiver with shame. Elijah was the only one 
in the cast who could make Orlando feel old. Old 
and...well...responsible. He wasn't sure of the mechanics, but 
he was pretty certain that they'd kidnapped Elijah because he'd 
failed in some way. Legolas hadn't been enough…
now they had to have Frodo. The problem was, Frodo was being 
played by a guy who was almost too young to even drink. A kid 
who still lived with his parents --albeit in a separate 
building, he'd be sure to clarify -- but with mom and dad, none-
the-less. 

"God, I've messed this up good," Orli apologized to Elijah. He 
wanted to stroke the sweaty forehead, to smooth the mussed hair. 
But Lija had been manhandled enough, thank you. He'd keep his 
hands to himself. Orli squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think 
of ways to get them both out of there. 

No one disturbed them, letting Elijah sleep the chemicals out of 
his system and letting Orlando stew in his own self-loathing. 

"Orli? Orli?" 

He came awake with a jerk, focusing on the intense blue eyes 
peering at him over the hump of his own chest. 

"Are you all right, Orlando?" 

"Lija." It came back with a rush. How had he fallen asleep? 
Orlando sat up too quickly, sending his head spinning. "What 
time is it?" 

"Seven A.M. Where are we?" 

Just how did he explain this one? He inspected Elijah with a 
critical eye. Ahh, the resilience of youth. None the worse for 
wear, at least on the surface. 

"Is this what happened to you?" Elijah asked, his face looking 
like the curious hobbit, rather than the `worried, tormented' 
one. "Did they bring you here too?" 

He did his best to explain, skipping over the `punishment' part, 
and leaving out Grant's threats. Elijah found the whole thing 
maddeningly interesting. 

"She really thinks she's Arwen? Doesn't she realize that she's 
dying? Am I going to see her too?" 

`Not if I can help it,' Orli thought to himself. Where was the 
terrified kid he'd rescued from the hall last night? Maybe his 
assumptions about Lija's ability to handle this novel situation 
were wrong. But somehow he still thought not. Someone else had 
noticed that they were awake, and a knock brought a guard 
bearing two breakfast trays. Orli picked at the food while 
Elijah ate with gusto. By the time they came to take the plates, 
Orlando had formulated a plan of action. 

"You two please come with me," Kahuna said. 

"I have to talk to Grant," Orlando told him. 

"First you go see Mister Tyler." 

Elijah crossed the room and gazed up at the massive man. "You're 
a big one." 

"And you are a little one." 

That seemed to amuse the young actor, and he calmly accompanied 
Orli and Kahuna on the walk to Rollie Tyler's workshop. 

"So, it's true," Rollie said as they entered. "Elijah Wood." 
Only Orlando's new familiarity with the Aussie allowed him to 
see the flash of despair in Tyler's eyes. Introductions made, 
Tyler said, "This is going to take a lot more work. We're going 
to have to rough up everything for you from scratch. Apparently 
the days of pillaging the makeup and costume supplies in New 
Zealand are over. I don't know quite how we're going to make a 
convincing hobbit out of you, but we'll give it a go." 

Orli waited until Elijah was busy looking through Rollie's 
equipment and Kahuna was preoccupied on the phone to step next 
to Tyler and whisper a question. "Have you spoken to Angie yet 
today?" 

Rollie shook his head, making it look like he was chasing a 
stray lock of hair. "I need you to get her to send a message." 

Rollie shook his head again. He wasn't going to do anything to 
jeopardize his associate. "You can find a way. I know Elijah 
better than he knows himself. He's going to freak. We can't let 
them put him in with Sylvie." 

Tyler took a deep breath, then spoke loud enough for Kahuna 
hear. "The makeup is only part of it, they're going to have to 
get someone in here to do costume. I won't be able to give you a 
hobbit for several hours at least. Can you explain that to Mr. 
Marteen?" Kahuna started relaying that information to his boss. 
"What's the message?" Rollie said under his breath, just loud 
enough for Orli to hear. 

"Bless you, Tyler…" 

13. Screenplay 

Billy Boyd woke to find a Studio Security guard staring at him 
from the kitchen. John Rhys-Davies was moved to a different 
hotel. Dominic and Sean had people posted at their door. 
Everyone had a buddy, or three, like it or not. Viggo Mortensen 
locked himself in a room and painted. 

When they'd realized that Elijah had disappeared from a sound 
stage full of people - full of the other members of the cast - 
all hell broke loose at the studio. This time the police were a 
little more cooperative. The only clue they'd found was an 
electric golf cart parked near a gate in the perimeter fence 
where it had no business being. The chain on the gate was cut; 
the cart proved remarkably free of fingerprints. Peter Jackson 
was considering calling a halt to the whole production. The Weta 
warehouses were locked down tight, many of the more valuable 
props going home with the most trusted employees. They weren't 
going to take any more chances. Yet, it was obviously the 
missing actors that worried everyone…especially Elijah. You 
didn't loose a kid like that and pretend there was nothing 
wrong. 

On top of everything else, Elijah was the star of the movie. The 
trans-Pacific satellite links burned up with calls to and from 
America. New Line Pictures and the investors panicked. The 
completion assurance company started assembling a team. Lawyers 
and accountants began descending like vultures. 

Viggo emerged from a marathon art session to eat something. He 
wasn't hungry, but his creativity was giving up. He had to get 
some food and some rest. He'd been ignoring the phone, and 
turning everyone but the other actors away. For such a private 
man, the increased attention was hell. Finally settling on a 
sandwich, he sat down and considered the blinking light on his 
laptop. This sort of communication was a little less immediate, 
more removed. Maybe he could handle it. He tapped a few keys and 
started scanning his e-
mails. 

The message almost went to oblivion, but something caught his 
eye. It was a note from his art agent in Los Angeles, passing on 
a request that had just come in. Someone wanted to use a couple 
of pieces of his artwork in a new movie, going into production 
soon. Would he consider licensing the rights to `Ned Kelly' and 
`Disneyworld?' His agent was being genteelly curious, since she 
couldn't recall those particular pieces. Neither could he. 

Paging down to the original message, Viggo read it carefully. 
Maybe they were thinking of another actor slash artist -- 
someone with lousy taste in titles. The request seemed pretty 
honest. It was signed Roland Tyler, I.H.P. Viggo's stomach 
suddenly lurched. I.H.P. Impressionable Hobbit Present? Elijah? 
"Ned Kelly?" Hadn't he heard that a role in the upcoming Ned 
Kelly movie had been given to Orlando? Orlando! "Disneyworld!" 
Someone knew where they were! 

God, what should he do? Viggo was torn. He'd already decided 
that the Studio Security was most likely to blame for the 
thefts, and probably the kidnapping, at least of Elijah. He had 
been thinking about taking his suspicions to Peter, but you 
didn't decide to tell someone that their own staff were stabbing 
them in the back without some kind of hard evidence. 

Viggo poured over the original message once again. There was a 
contact for Roland Tyler in New York, at a place called FX. 
Trembling with hope and fear, Viggo started typing. 

14. Script Change 

It was late afternoon before Grant met them at the door to 
Sylvie's room. Rollie had stalled on the makeup for as long as 
he dared, and Orlando had tried his best to argue with Marteen. 
But the man's mind was made up. His daughter wanted the 
hobbit…she was going to get the hobbit. 

"You don't look right," he announced, eyeing Elijah's improvised 
costume. 

Rollie Tyler winced. He'd accompanied them to the door, knowing 
that things were going to get worse. You didn't ever talk to an 
actor that way. You never implied that they were less than 
perfect for their part. Rollie knew all the ins and outs of 
actor egos, and if Elijah was less than a hobbit, it was 
Rollie's fault. "Well, Mr. Marteen, there are some technical 
problems," he started. 

`The makeup is fine," Grant said, dismissing him. 

"He's two feet too tall," Orlando announced, stating the 
obvious. "As I tried to tell you earlier, Mr. Marteen, Elijah's 
cute little hobbit thing was due more than a bit to camera 
angles, tricks and forced perspective." He clutched Elijah's 
shoulder, pulling him tight against his Elven-clad chest, trying 
to reassure him with the touch. "This is the young man who did 
the work -- but he is a man, not a hobbit." 

Marteen looked murderous. "How can we fool Sylvie?" 

"There are some things we can do," Rollie said. "Lower the 
lighting. Orlando will stand close to her side, reducing the 
comparison. We'll get a very low chair in at the foot of the 
bed. The rest of it is going to be up to Elijah. He's going to 
have to make her *think* of him as being Frodo."

"I can do it," Wood insisted. He didn't like his first look at 
Grant Marteen any more than the man seemed to like his 
impression of Elijah. "Orli and I came up with a rough script." 

"I guess it'll have to do," Marteen agreed finally. He made eye 
contact with Orlando, letting him know that if something failed 
he was going to take it out on the actors. "I'm staying in there 
with you." He turned aside to get his own wig and robe on while 
preparations were made. 

"I'll go first," Orlando said, nodding to the guard to open the 
bedroom door. 

The Lady Arwen stirred anxiously as her dear Elven Prince 
entered once again. He came to her boldly, kissing her brow and 
smoothing her hair with a gentle touch, dark eyes snapping with 
affection. 

"My Lord Green-leaf! You seem so much more yourself with your 
enchanted bow." 

"And you seem to be faring better this lovely day, my Lady 
Evenstar. I believe that the evil curse on you is lifting. You 
seem stronger. The end of your trial is near, my Princess." 

"From your lips," she sighed, eyes drifting shut. "Have you a 
new story for me today, Legolas?" 

"Nay, I've brought you something far more fair." He motioned 
with his hand, blocking her view as Marteen and Elijah took 
their places. Marteen loomed over the young actor, making him 
look as small as possible. But Elijah's mobile face reflected 
his shock at his first glimpse of the stricken girl. 

It had been so neat and abstract before, so easy to think of 
this as a job. After all, Elijah had faced a multitude of 
horrible monsters and horrifying sights in his movie career. But 
all of them had been the work of magicians like Rollie Tyler. No 
magic was at work in the frail body before him on the huge bed. 
It was just a girl, hardly older than himself. And she was 
obviously dying. Elijah swallowed hard, all the lines he'd 
learned with Orli fleeing his mind. 

Legolas spoke gently, "My lady, see who has arrived to seek your 
council and the comfort of your grace? The Ringbearer, having 
completed the mission set forth for him in this very place!" 

Sylvie struggled to sit up, her eyes locking on Elijah's. 
"Frodo! Oh, my beloved little one! Come to me, please." 

"He is tired, Arwen," Marteen interrupted, placing a death grip 
on the actor's shoulder. "I think it would be best to let him 
rest for a while. You know how arduous the trip from Mordor is…" 

"Oh Frodo," she crooned. "How I have thought of you and your 
courage! Tell me how you fare! Legolas has spoken so much of the 
horrible trials you've endured." 

Elijah felt stricken. `Cut' he whispered to himself. The silence 
stretched agonizingly over several seconds, then his gaze turned 
to Orli. There was no panic in the cool Elven gaze, only the 
strength he'd come to rely on from Legolas. "I've come to see 
you, Lady Arwen," Elijah stammered. He swallowed again, trying 
to reframe his voice to Frodo's pitch and cadence. He could 
remember how to do that, couldn't he? "Sauron is defeated, the 
Ring destroyed. The twisted creature Gollum bore it down into 
the inferno that bore it. Middle-earth is safe again for your 
fair race." 

Orli nodded almost imperceptibly, taking Sylvie's hand in his 
own, stroking her thin knuckles as if there was nothing wrong. 
Legolas started talking, trying to keep the center of attention 
on himself. But Arwen's concern was for the hobbit, and she kept 
returning her scrutiny to the figure huddled at the foot of her 
enormous bed. 

Several minutes had passed when Elijah was stopped cold by a 
question. "And how much do you suffer the Nazgûl wound?" Sylvie 
had asked. His mind went totally blank. 

"The knife wound in your shoulder," Orlando prompted. They'd 
anticipated this question, and Rollie Tyler had faked a nice 
little bit of scar near Elijah's collarbone. He'd been 
scratching at it absent-mindedly. 

"Oh, uh, of course. The Nazgûl wound," he said, wrestling with 
his costume to reveal the spot. His coat was too tight, the 
cloth stiff and pinned somewhere he couldn't reach. These 
clothes were unfamiliar and suddenly too restricting. Sylvie's 
gaze had narrowed. 

"Frodo?" she questioned. 

Grant was trying to help him, fumbling with the big hands on the 
coat, looming over him. Elijah couldn't stop himself from 
shoving the intense man away. He was having trouble breathing as 
it was, without this pushy guy pawing all over him! 

"Frodo!" her voice carried great worry. 

"Cut," Elijah blurted, freezing with his eyes locked on 
Sylvie's. She was dying…he could see it in her frightened face. 
She was really going to die, and there was nothing Elijah Wood 
could do to stop it. "Cut!" 

Orli darted to his side, letting his cape sweep around them as 
he grabbed Elijah's clothing and wrenched the fabric, blocking 
them from Sylvie's view. Marteen was there with a long knife, 
and the coat and shirt gave with a tearing sound. Elijah tried 
to push him away before the blade reached his skin. 

"Stop it!" Sylvie screamed, her voice trembling. "Stop it! 
What's happening here?" 

Orlando turned to face her, standing on tiptoe to try to look 
taller. "My Lady - the dark forces still affect us all. Things 
have changed so since the fellowship began. I'm afraid that 
Frodo still bears the curse of the Ring, and his mind is not 
always clear. He…
uh…" 

"This is so wrong," Elijah said, realizing only after the words 
had left his mouth that he'd said them aloud. 

"You are exhausted, my hobbit friend," Orlando said, grabbing 
Elijah firmly and pulling him backwards, tipping him off the 
chair. "My lady, I beg your leave. We must let him rest before 
he can tell you more of how Aragorn fares and what is to become 
of our world." Marteen moved to cover their retreat, and Orlando 
dragged Elijah back to the door, not letting him find his feet 
and stand up. To his credit, Elijah didn't fight his friend's 
grip, trusting Orli not to drop him. Orlando banged the door 
open with his shoulder. But Elijah's gaze was still back at the 
girl on the bed, and she was trying to see around Marteen, her 
face a mask of horror. 

"Frodo?" she called weakly after them. 

15. Contract Termination 

Their breathing was the only sound in the hallway as the door 
swung shut behind them. The security guard was obviously 
surprised to see them again so soon. Elijah recovered his 
balance and pulled away from Orli's grip. "I'm so sorry," he 
started. "I don't know what happened. It was just so weird, and 
she's so pathetic, and I couldn't remember…" 

Orli seemed to be looking for someone, but Kahuna and Tyler had 
left. He finally met the young actor's gaze. "Elijah, listen to 
me! No matter what happens, you have to get yourself out of here 
safely. The only way you can do that is to cooperate. I know he 
seems crazy, but I think Marteen will let you go if you can just 
convince Sylvie -- " 

The door banged open again and then Marteen was on them. 
Elijah's apology died on his lips as he saw the white face and 
murderous eyes. Then he saw the knife, coming up from Marteen's 
side. The blade glinted in the light of the hall, and then 
Orlando's body slammed into his, knocking Elijah sprawling into 
the wall. Orli was grappling with the big man, trying to find 
some sort of leverage. The strangest thing was that not a word 
was spoken. Even the security man froze, unable or unwilling to 
intervene. A push, a shove, Orlando trying to twist away, and 
suddenly the blade came up, burying to the hilt under the 
actor's ribs. Orli staggered, knocking a vase from a decorative 
table against the wall. 

A savage grin lit Marteen's face, and he wrenched the knife, 
jerking the impaled actor's body like it was a puppet. The knife 
pulled free with a sucking sound and Orli went down, his head 
striking the table and his body falling atop the shattered vase. 
The beautiful Elven cloak pooled around his still form, draping 
it like a setting for a portrait. 

"Orli," Elijah said softly, rising to his knees, reaching out to 
touch the still shoulder. 

"That should have been you, kid," Marteen said cruelly from 
between clenched teeth. "Take care of this," he told the 
security man, turning away. 

"Orli?" Deeply in shock, Elijah rolled his friend over. 
Orlando's body was surprisingly heavy, flopping bonelessly onto 
his back. The eyes were closed and his face peaceful. Too 
peaceful. He wasn't breathing. "No!" Elijah screamed. No one 
moved to help him. 

Suddenly he knew what to do. Elijah calmly cleared the broken 
porcelain away with a sweep of his hand. He carefully tilted 
Orlando's head back, lifting his chin. Fingers found hot damp at 
the side of Orli's head as Elijah checked for the pulse at his 
throat. A thin beat fluttered beneath his touch. Elijah clamped 
a grip over Orli's nose, cupping the chin with his other palm 
and easing the lax mouth wide, then he took a deep breath and 
forced the air into Orlando's still chest. Tipping his head to 
watch the ribs fall, Elijah then repeated the breath. Many times 
he forced air past the unconscious man's lips, noting that his 
fingers were now stained with blood. Nothing mattered except 
pushing the life back into his friend. 

A strangled cough, and suddenly Elijah's own mouth was filled 
with blood. He spat it out and continued; now turning Orli's 
head between breaths so the hot red flow could clear. More 
coughing, more blood, and then a ragged gasp as Orli drew air on 
his own for the first time. Coughing stronger, a twitch of 
shoulders, the air seemed to be sucked out of Elijah instead of 
his having to push so hard. Then Orlando was breathing on his 
own, gagging softly on the blood. 

"Let's roll him on his side," said a calm voice in Elijah's ear. 
Rollie Tyler was there. How many minutes had passed while Elijah 
had tried to will Orli back to life? His head started spinning, 
a delayed effect from the lack of oxygen to his own body and the 
terror which finally came back to lay its claim. 

Rollie had his hand under Orli's clothes, palm clamped tight 
over the knife wound. "I can feel air bubbling," he said. "The 
lung is penetrated." 

"The doctor is on her way," Kahuna informed them, his voice 
frighteningly cool. 

Elijah looked down at the bloody handprints he'd left on 
Orlando's face. But of course it wasn't Orlando Bloom, lying 
there in the hallway. It was Legolas Green-leaf, Sindarin Prince 
of the Woodland Realm, and Elves didn't die…did they? 

16. Looping 

The door to Grant's office slammed open and he looked up to see 
Rollie Tyler stalking toward him. "Here!" the special effects 
man spat, throwing something down on the cluttered surface of 
his desk. It was the Legolas wig, jaunty braids askew and blond 
hair dripping with blood. "Here's your trophy!" Rollie almost 
screamed. "Why don't you get it mounted? It'll look great next 
to the rhino head and the stuffed tiger. Nothing like a dead Elf 
to impress the Sheilas!" 

"Is he dead then?" Marteen asked coolly, wondering how Tyler had 
gotten in here without Kahuna knowing it. 

"Not yet," Rollie spat. "Your doctor said he might pull through, 
assuming he doesn't bleed to death. He should be in hospital! 
Your little kidnapping has just become attempted murder!" 

"You'd do well to remember yourself, Mister Tyler," Marteen 
warned. 

"What were you thinking? I tried to warn you! Orlando tried to 
warn you! Elijah Wood is an actor. You've got money in the 
entertainment industry all over Australia, and you have no idea 
what actors are! That kid has been in the business since he was 
ten, coddled and taken care of and kept in an artificial 
environment where everything works according to plan and the 
happy endings are always happy. He doesn't have a clue about 
people like you. Christ, Marteen…he's only two years older than 
Sylvie!" 

At the mention of his daughter's name, Grant's heart hardened 
once again. "Sylvie is the only thing that matters to me. It's 
just a job. All he had to do was play the hobbit." 

"But it's not play, is it? Were you playing when you stabbed 
Orli? Do you expect me to clear away the wound with spirit gum 
remover? Did you know that Elijah saved his life, what there is 
of it right now? Do you really think Elijah's going to be able 
to go back into Sylvie's room and pretend that he's the happy 
little halfling, on his way home to the Shire?" Rollie deflated 
somewhat, his eyes growing dark. "You really are insane, aren't 
you?" 

Grant was around his desk in a few steps, a towering rage 
clouding his vision. "Get out!" he demanded. He swung at Rollie. 
The tall Aussie ducked the blow neatly, rounding on Marteen with 
a fist that bloodied his nose. 

"That's a down payment," Rollie said calmly, surveying the 
stunned look he was getting. "You're going to pay for what 
you're doing to us here. Maybe not now, but you'll pay." Tyler 
turned to leave, pausing at the door. "I'll be in my room, if 
you want to send your freak manservant to pummel me. You'd 
better do everything in your power to make sure that Orlando 
lives." 

He closed the door with a slam. Marteen stood there breathing 
hard, his nose sending stabbing pain across his face, blood 
trickling into his open mouth. The phone was ringing. He finally 
caught it, eyes still locked on the closed door. "What?" 

"Sir, there's a call for you on line seven." 

"I don't care," he snapped, hanging up. 

The phone rang again. "I'm so sorry, Mister Marteen. But I 
really think you should speak to this man. He says his name is 
Viggo Mortensen, and that he's Aragorn. He says you can either 
talk to him, or talk to the police." 

He moved back to his chair, slumping heavily. "Put him through." 

17. Re-Cast 

Elijah begged and pleaded with the implacable Kahuna. He picked 
up the phone every few minutes and begged whatever distant voice 
responded. He pounded on his locked door until his fists ached. 
He stood at the windows and screamed at the dark night. Finally 
he took to knocking over furniture. That was when Kahuna finally 
unlocked his door and stepped inside. 

"All right, little one," the man mountain said. "I will let you 
come and see him if you will stop." 

Elijah tried to push past his hulk. "Come on, come on!" 

Kahuna grabbed a handful of Elijah's shirt, holding him back to 
a steady pace as they moved up the hall to Orlando's room. Using 
his card key to activate the door, Kahuna locked fingers on 
Elijah's arm before opening the entrance. It did him no good, as 
the actor squirmed away from his bruising grip and rushed to the 
bed. 

The doctor was seated nearby, her face watching Elijah's as he 
slid to a stop, staring down at the quiet man. 

Orlando's skin seemed impossibly pale. Rollie had removed as 
much of the makeup as he could, but a few smears still colored 
brow and throat. A shred of latex clung to the shell of his ear. 
Long dark lashes rimmed thin, pale blue eyelids, dark circles on 
the skin below. A dressing was taped beneath one ear, the gauze 
stained dark red. An oxygen cannula ran beneath his nose and 
over the ears, hissing like a snake. 

The hollow of Orlando's throat seemed to underscore the 
unfamiliar vulnerability. White dressings wrapped his chest, 
bulky over where the knife had gone in. A thin tube snaked from 
beneath the bandages, and it carried a trickle of blood away out 
of sight. Another tube came from the bag draped over the 
headboard, carrying a clear liquid to the needle in his arm. 

Elijah leaned close, his lips near the placid brow. "I'm sorry, 
Orli." He leaned down, placing a kiss with all the delicacy he 
could muster. He rose again to meet the doctor's cool gaze. 

She nodded at Elijah, a smile flirting momentarily across her 
thin mouth. "I think he's going to be all right," she told the 
young man. "He's in very good condition, despite his nasty 
habits, and the wound isn't as bad as it looked. It's hard to 
tell how well his lung is re-inflating, but the bleeding is 
tapering off and I don't think there's too much pressure. The 
head wound is superficial, though he'd probably complain of a 
horrible headache if he were awake. If he'd hit his temple that 
hard it probably would have caused a lot more damage." 

"Orli's always had a hard head," Elijah said, trying to hide the 
tremor in his voice. 

"That is enough visiting for now, Mister Wood," Kahuna told him, 
looming once again. 

"I want to stay here through the night!" Elijah complained. 
"What if he needs something? What if he wakes up, and he's 
scared?" 

The raised brow seemed to indicate that he found the last 
possibility the least likely, and Kahuna looked significantly 
toward the doctor. "She will be here. If she has to go then I 
will stay. He will not be alone. I'm taking you back to your 
room, Mister Wood." 

"No!" Lija said bitterly, but he gave ground as soon as the 
large hand fell to his shoulder. He looked back to the bed as 
they left, watching until the last possible moment. 

"Remember you promised to behave if I brought you here to see," 
Kahuna warned. 

He'd promised no such thing. If anything, seeing Orlando lying 
there looking half dead had hardened Elijah's heart further. 
They weren't going to get away with this. His lips pressed to a 
thin line, eyes straight ahead. These bastards were going to be 
sorry. 

Back in Orlando's room, the doctor glanced up from her book at 
the sound of a soft moan. Orlando swallowed, a few weak coughs 
bringing traces of blood to his lips. His eyes finally fluttered 
open, and tried to focus. He drew a deep breath, and winced in 
pain. 

"Don't try to move," the doctor told him. "You're held together 
with tape and stitches and a prayer right now. Your lung is very 
dicey on that side." 

His eyes rolled around to find her face, then his lips moved. 

"What?" she asked, leaning closer. "Try again." 

"I said I'm sorry I called you a bitch, Doctor." 

She couldn't help the smile. "You're going to be all right, 
Mister Bloom." 

"Call me Orli." 

"Okay. Call me Peg. It sounds a little more friendly than Dr. 
Bitch." 

18. Entrance 

Mustering every bit of his self-confidence, Viggo Mortensen 
strolled through Elijah's door like he owned the place. He had a 
flight bag and was dressed to travel -- in fact he'd just been 
delivered from the Sydney Airport. He was neat and alert despite 
the fact that it was a bit after five A.M. 

Elijah rolled over and focused on the new arrival, squinting at 
him without believing what he saw. "I'm imagining you," he said 
flatly. 

"Then dream on, little prince," Viggo told him, dropping his 
bag. "I'll go grab a shower." 

"Viggo?" Elijah suddenly scrambled to get off the bed, tripping 
over the covers he'd pulled out and staggering when his foot 
caught in the wadded comforter. 

"Which way to the bathroom?" Viggo asked. 

Elijah caught him a few feet away, and grabbed the bigger man in 
a crushing embrace. 

"Here now," Viggo said softly, feeling the sobs as they shook 
Elijah's thin frame. "It can't be all that bad." 

"It is!" Elijah gasped, then he launched into a gasped version 
of the last day and a half. Viggo couldn't understand but one 
word in twenty, if that, but he stood quietly and let the young 
man go on. Wood slowly started to wind down and make sense. "Oh, 
Vig…I can't believe they stole you too! I thought I was so 
stupid, getting grabbed like that and the way they hauled me 
around like luggage!" 

"Actually, I came on my own." 

That shut Elijah up. He pulled away and turned a reddened, 
splotchy face up to Viggo. "You *what*?" 

"I called Grant Marteen on the phone, told him I thought he had 
you lads here against your will." 

"Well, YEAH!" 

"He didn't exactly admit it, but he told me some about his 
daughter and that he needed help." Viggo looked around the room, 
assessing the luxury and security. He tucked his chin down and 
pressed his face into Elijah's hair. "Are we being watched?" he 
whispered. 

"I think so," Elijah answered as quietly as he could. "Maybe 
just overheard." 

"You look tired," Viggo said, steering Elijah toward one of the 
couches. "You can't have been sleeping much." They sat down side 
by side and Viggo examined his face intently. "It's been pretty 
busy on the set as well," Viggo continued. He seemed to find 
something wrong on Elijah's neck. "John doesn't like the new 
pages." There were no new pages, Viggo was just talking to cover 
his motions as he unbuttoned Elijah's shirt. 

"John's a complainer," Elijah ventured, unsure what was going 
on, but obeying as Viggo touched his lip with a fingertip, 
indicating that he wanted silence from the young man. 

"Yeah, that's what Karl and Peter said." He eased the shirt open 
and examined Elijah's chest. "John's too much of a 
perfectionist." There were bruises on both shoulders, one a 
perfect mimic of Grant's hand. "After all, it isn't 
Shakespeare." Viggo's lips had drawn tight, anger dancing in the 
deep eyes. "You know how it is." 

"It's not as bad as it was," Elijah told him, wincing as Viggo's 
strong fingers found a sore spot on one rib. 

"Well, it still pissed me off." He gestured at the lower half of 
Elijah's body. 

Realizing what was being asked, Elijah quickly shook his head. 

"So, you've seen this whole place, huh? It seems pretty nice." 
He mimicked stroking a braid, and drew an invisible bow. 

Swallowing, Elijah made a knife of his hand and stabbed Viggo in 
the same place Orli had been injured. "I'm sure it's on all the 
tours," he said aloud. He then smacked himself in the side of 
the head and leaned back on the couch with his eyes shut. 

"Yeah? But for how long?" Viggo's voice was just a trace too 
tight. 

Elijah shook his head that he didn't know how long Orli was 
unconscious. He couldn't take it anymore. "What were you 
thinking, Viggo, coming here?" 

Viggo took a moment to compose himself, helping Elijah slip back 
into his shirt. "It's like this, Lija…I think Marteen has got a 
lot of the Studio Security guards on his payroll. I'd been 
noticing things for quite a while, little things, but they added 
up to us being watched more closely than we should have been. 
That's how they snatched you, you know." 

"I know that now. What I wouldn't give to have known it a week 
ago. I'd be home right now if I had." 

"I wish you were there too, hobbit. So, there I am on the set, 
surrounded by these guys who are supposed to be taking care of 
us and I realize it's more like the entire cast is being held 
prisoner. I mean, what's to stop them from doing to anyone what 
they did to you? When I talked to Marteen he said that his 
daughter is fading very fast, so I wanted to help here and just 
get this over with." 

Elijah was suddenly hurting now that his injuries had been 
pointed out to him. He pulled Viggo's ear to his lips and 
whispered, "Does anyone know where you went?" 

Viggo winked at him. Elijah visibly relaxed. "Listen, Lij, you 
just relax for a few minutes. I really do want to get a shower. 
Who's this guy Tyler? Any relation to my girlfriend?" 

That took a second to sink in. "Oh, yeah, Liv. No, his name's 
Rollie Tyler." 

"Any good, is he?" 

"He's fabulous." Elijah watched as Viggo rose and started toward 
the bathroom. "Leave me some hot water." 

"Like this place is going to run out of hot water," Viggo 
laughed. "It's a fucking city, Lij!" 

19. Long Shot 

"I want to see Orlando before you take me anywhere," Viggo said 
firmly. He was wearing Aragorn's costume, the clothes 
cosmetically stained and distressed. He'd reluctantly left 
Elijah in his room when the Polynesian had come to get him, but 
he didn't intend to go quietly without first laying eyes on his 
Rings co-star. 

"Mister Bloom is sleeping." 

"We'll wake him up. Which room is he in?" He watched Kahuna's 
eyes very carefully, and saw the tiny flick to the right, 
subconscious, but confirming what Elijah had told him about the 
layout of the `guest' quarters. 

"You come to makeup, please," Kahuna said, smiling with no trace 
of warmth. "Then you can meet Mister Marteen, and he'll say what 
happens next. If you don't want to do this, maybe we will have 
to bring your little friend along." 

It was damn soon for them to be threatening Elijah already. This 
situation was even more explosive than he'd feared. 

Viggo let Kahuna guide him through the house, counting the hours 
since he'd left New Zealand and figuring out how many things 
would have to happen before help arrived. The first step would 
be getting the studio personnel from Los Angeles and the team of 
guards Peter was busy rounding up from Australia - all 
experienced and trusted people with no history of working for 
any of Grant Marteen's companies or interests. It would have 
been better to bring everyone in from the States, but there just 
wasn't time. Then there'd have to be the quiet replacement of 
the current guards on duty at the studio -
- everyone that had access to the actors. Only then would Peter 
make his move. Only when everyone there was safe would it be an 
acceptable risk to alert the authorities in Australia. 

Grant Marteen was too well connected, too politically savvy. At 
least a few people on the inside of the local law enforcement 
would undoubtedly be on his payroll. When Peter was sure that 
the rest of the cast were protected, he could do something about 
the missing members. It was one of the only things they'd agreed 
on before Viggo had left. Now that he knew how bad things really 
were at the Marteen estate, he was regretting their caution. 
Peter had been assuming that Orlando and Elijah were fine, and 
in no immediate danger. Obviously Marteen had lied about that as 
well. 

Rollie Tyler was studying photos of Aragorn as Viggo came 
through the door. He quickly rose and took Viggo's hand in a 
firm grip, leaning towards him and examining his face 
critically. "Let's see what we've got here, mate. Three days of 
stubble, bags under the eyes, rugged and manly and looks like 
you were out getting pissed `til all hours. You look like shite, 
Mister Mortensen." He gestured toward the door. "You're good to 
go. You don't need me." 

Viggo liked him already. "See, everything they say about you is 
wrong, Tyler. You ARE a genius." He hefted the wig he'd been 
carrying so carelessly. "How about the hair, just for giggles?" 

"Oh, if you insist," Tyler sighed, gesturing him toward the 
makeup chair. He took the hair. "God, you'd think someone in New 
Zealand would have learned how to wash this stuff by now." He 
shook it out and set it over a head form, starting in with a 
special brush. 

"That one's not mine." Viggo said, keeping an eye on Kahuna as 
the huge man retreated to the hall and took up a post. "I think 
it was stunt actor number seven's. Check it for lice, would 
you?" 

"Just Orc slobber," Rollie told him. He was suddenly reminded of 
Orli's hair, and the sickening squishing noise it had made 
hitting Marteen's desk. He'd found the blond Elven hair on its 
form when he'd arrived at the workshop that morning, washed and 
ready to go, like they were expecting Orlando's name to appear 
on the call sheet. Rollie's face must have reflected some of his 
thoughts. 

"This will be over soon," Viggo said softly. 

He turned to the man, studying his handsome features with 
professional detachment. "You want I should pretty you up a 
bit?" 

"I'm the romantic lead in this scene," Viggo told him. "Best not 
to frighten the horses. But don't get genius and make me all 
Elvish pretty. I've got a reputation to protect." 

"No worries, mate," Rollie snorted. "No one's going to call you 
pretty." He started to work. 

A few minutes into the transformation, Viggo called out to his 
guard, "Hey, big guy. That sound was my stomach. You think I 
could get something to eat while Rollie here works his magic? 
I've got to watch my blood sugar." 

"Right away, Mister Mortensen," Kahuna called, going to the 
phone. 

Viggo's fingers caught Rollie's arm, drawing him around so his 
back blocked Kahuna's view. `We'll have help by tonight, six 
o'clock at the latest." Viggo said, barely moving his lips. 

"Marteen's been with her all night," Rollie whispered back. "I'm 
worried about what happens when she finally goes. This guy is 
over the top -- he could do anything. How're we going to get 
Orli out? Last I knew he was still unconscious." 

"I'll get the boys. Can you handle a distraction?" 

"You kidding? FX are my true line." 

"No way to signal you," Viggo said. "We'll just have to guess, 
unless one of us comes up with a brilliant plan before -- " 

"Your breakfast will be here in just a minute, Mister 
Mortensen." How had Kahuna gotten that close? Fortunately, he 
didn't seem to have overheard. "They're ready for you in Miss 
Sylvie's room as soon as you can join them." 

"I better get my spackle knife out if we're going to have to 
rush," Tyler teased, turning to his tools. 

20. Focus Puller 

Sylvie wasn't talking much. She'd been very quiet since the Elf 
had dragged the Hobbit out yesterday. Her once-lovely face 
seemed lax and impossibly pale. She turned her head away from 
Grant frequently, staring out the fake windows at the distant 
waterfalls. Once he'd heard her mumbling the words to a song 
that Orlando had sung to her. 

The morphine drip was being replenished constantly now. The 
doctors were rotating their surveillance. They'd been getting 
very careless about the protocols he'd instituted. One had even 
come in without her Elven cloak on, going to fetch it only when 
he'd hissed a warning. The carefully constructed fantasy was 
coming apart…and it was all the fault of that stupid little 
actor who'd --- 

"My lady," the nurse called, hesitating near the door. "My Lady, 
a man to see you!" 

"Not just any man," said the firm, confident voice. Marteen's 
eyes widened as he spotted Viggo, pausing just inside the room. 
He should have known that another father would understand his 
pain. 

"Lady Arwen Evenstar," Viggo's voice purred. 

"Aragorn," Sylvie called, her own voice weak, her arms rising. 

Aragorn swept to her side, gently kissing her hands, drinking in 
the sight of her like a drowning man. "Arwen, Arwen, my 
beloved." 

Tears started flowing down Arwen's cheeks. Oh, to let him see 
her like this! And yet, he didn't seem too mind. He wasn't 
repulsed. His eyes shone her own love back on her, and all the 
pain and loss and the time they were apart melted away. Aragorn 
bent and lifted her with infinite gentleness, moving her on the 
huge bed and climbing in beside her. He eased her back against 
his firm chest and held her like a child. Strong arms kept the 
fear at bay. She was back in her beloved's protection; nothing 
would ever hurt her again. They murmured endearments, and he 
stroked her hair. Time blurred into a warm glow. 

Grant Marteen's own face was wet with tears. Now THIS was 
acting. He actually had to fight down a pang of jealousy as he 
watched Mortensen cuddle his daughter. Her face shone with a 
radiant light, and it wasn't from the drugs or the illusion. It 
was joy. 

Hours passed, and Viggo could feel the energy slowly leaving 
her. He shifted slightly and felt something in his pocket. God, 
he'd almost forgotten! "I have something to return to you, 
Evenstar." He dug out the prize he'd had to wrest from Peter's 
protective grasp. It was the necklace Liv had given to him in 
the first movie, the token of Arwen's immortality. He dangled 
the beautiful trinket in front of Sylvie's fading eyes. 

"You remember telling me that your immortality was yours to 
give? Now I return it to you, my beloved. You will live with me 
until I am gone, and then you will sail over the sea to be with 
your father." 

"No," she said softly, reaching up to touch the dazzling 
pendant. "I will be with you forever." 

He carefully closed the clasp around her neck. It drew her gaze 
away from the subclavian drip and the medical paraphernalia. She 
fingered the delicate silver. Sylvie smiled, and her eyes 
drifted shut. Her body went lax, and still Viggo held her. A 
monitor beeped annoyingly, and was hushed. A few more minutes, 
and another alarm started. This one too was silenced. He looked 
up to see the nurse and two doctors standing beside the bed, 
waiting respectfully. He held her a while longer, then very 
gently lifted her forward and eased himself out from behind her, 
moving as cautiously as he could on legs that had long since 
gone to sleep. He tipped his chin at Grant Marteen, and the man 
hurried forward to take his place. Settling Sylvie back into her 
father's arms, Viggo bent and kissed the cool lips one last 
time. 

"Have a safe journey, my love," he whispered, then backed away. 
He waited at the foot of the bed, watching Marteen's tears as 
they fell into his daughter's hair. Moving as soundlessly as the 
Ranger he'd become, Viggo disappeared. 

21. Hot Set 

Kahuna finally found his boss in the office. Grant Marteen was 
sitting on his desk, staring at the painting of his daughter. 
"Mr. Marteen?" 

"She's gone." 

"I know, sir." 

"She's gone, Kahuna." 

"Yes, Sir. What do you want me to do now, Boss?" 

"Do?" He turned a dazed glance on his employee. "Do about what?" 

"The actors, Sir. They knocked over one of my men, tied him up. 
They're running loose somewhere. Tyler's missing too." 

Marteen snorted, shaking his head. "I don't care, Kahuna." He 
rose and looked down at his empty life with an unfocused gaze. 
Pulling out his chair, Marteen sank into the leather. He spotted 
the stain on his desk where Rollie had thrown the wig the night 
before. A stain on his pristine desk; a man's blood, dried to 
dark brown. 

"Kahuna?" 

The big man had almost left the room, sensing that his boss 
needed to be alone. "Yes sir, Mister Marteen?" 

"Go find them. Round them up. Kill them." 

Kahuna didn't even blink. "Yes sir." He closed the door quietly 
behind himself. 

Grant Marteen opened the top drawer of his desk, hand closing 
around the 9mm handgun within. There weren't going to be any 
lawsuits, no bad publicity. His name wasn't going to be ruined 
by the claims of a bunch of nobody actors. He wasn't going to 
face any consequences for his actions. Not now. Sylvie was gone, 
over the sea. He put the bore of the gun to his own temple. 

The sound failed to carry to the hallway, where a man was 
running toward Kahuna. 

"Fire!" the butler yelled. "Fire on the second floor, west 
wing!" 

Rollie Tyler's studio -- Kahuna should have seen this coming. 
"The alarm?" 

"I'm sure it's gone off. There's smoke everywhere!" 

"Call the fire department," Kahuna ordered. "Tell them it is a 
mistake. There is no fire." 

"But…but I saw the smoke, sir!" 

Of course he did. But Kahuna knew that illusion was what the 
tricky Mr. Tyler did. The last thing he wanted was the Sydney 
Fire Squadron knocking on their door…at least not before he'd 
taken care of their visitors. "You do what I said," he told the 
butler, moving off in the other direction. Wood and Mortensen 
were missing, but he knew where the other one would be. And it 
wouldn't take much to kill Bloom -- not much of a challenge at 
all. No reason not to start easy. It had been a long day as it 
was. 

Another fire exploded into life on the first floor, east wing, 
then a third on the fourth, center. Rollie Tyler had indeed been 
very busy. Maybe Viggo had just wanted a distraction, but Rollie 
was good and ready to see the whole fucking place burn to the 
ground. 

By the time Kahuna had reached Orlando Bloom's room, he was 
ready for his task. Somehow he knew that these orders from 
Mister Marteen were the last he'd ever be given. He was very 
keen to carry them out. Kahuna was a simple man. Not stupid, but 
very direct. He would do anything the boss told him to, anything 
at all. He'd been doing it for years - what was one more death? 
Or four? He found the door already open, the bloodied bed empty. 
Now THAT made him mad. 

Viggo darted across the hall to another doorway, pressing his 
body flat. Curls of smoke were starting to snake across the 
ceiling. Panicked voices carried from the other end of the hall 
- more of the employees fleeing the house. The top floor was now 
engulfed, the fire moving in from the wings. 

"Nice little diversion, Rollie," he said sarcastically. Sirens 
could be heard faintly, carrying from outside. Viggo had scouted 
several unbarred windows as escape routes, but he wasn't quite 
ready to give up on finding Orlando yet. Where would they have 
taken him? He tried the door, finding an empty room, some kind 
of study. Another door beckoned beyond. 

"I really should get out of here," Viggo told himself, stealing 
across the floor. He imagined that it was getting warmer. The 
lights flickered, and he feared for a moment that they would go 
out, leaving him trapped in the spreading smoke. But the lights 
stayed on. He reached the next door and turned the knob. Another 
office, this one much bigger than the last, and a fancy desk 
with - his heart stopped. Grant Marteen, the blood, the gun…. 

He turned to run, and Kahuna hit him like a car. The fist 
knocked Viggo back into the doorframe, his head striking the 
wood with a crack. The second blow would have caught him in the 
gut, but Viggo rolled to one side, somehow escaping. Staggering, 
his eyes refusing to focus, he ran for the hallway. Kahuna 
thundered after him, bellowing in rage. 

A swiping blow caught him as he reached the doorway and Viggo 
was knocked into the opposite corridor wall. This time he was 
unable to duck and the next blow took all the air out of his 
lungs and cracked a rib. A ham-sized fist closed on his throat. 
Viggo was unable to speak, looking up into his killer's 
frighteningly calm eyes. Kahuna might as well have been 
squeezing an orange for juice. He caught Viggo's fist with his 
other hand, bending the arm back at an impossible angle. 

*Thap* 

Kahuna's face registered annoyance for the first time. 

*Thwap* 

He grunted in pain. Viggo's vision was going red and black, and 
he heard himself making horrible little noises as he tried to 
breath. His feet kicked ineffectually against the wall and 
Kahuna's tree-
stump legs. 

*Thup* 

Kahuna's grip faltered, and then he twisted, releasing Viggo's 
hand to slap at his own back, as if an insect were annoying him. 
The hand came back wet with blood. Kahuna dropped Viggo, the 
actor collapsing limply, and turned to face up the hallway. 

The next arrow took him right in the gut. *Thump* 

Gasping for air, Viggo looked up to see Orlando with his bow, 
calmly notching another arrow. The actor wore loose, white 
pajama bottoms and had bare feet. His chest was bound with a 
thick dressing, and a severed tube was leaking blood down the 
pale skin and onto the white cloth below. His dark hair stood on 
end and his face was the same shade of white as the bandage. The 
strap of his quiver crossed his chest like a bandolier. Orli's 
chin was tucked, brow and mouth drawn straight, eyes focused 
like a laser. 

Kahuna roared like a bull, starting forward, and Orli let 
another arrow fly. This one hit the big man in the throat, but 
he kept coming. Orli reached back into his quiver, fingers 
finding and drawing the next arrow. It was too late - Kahuna hit 
him full on. The bow flew from his grip as he went down beneath 
the enraged giant. 

All but crawling, Viggo was coming as fast as he could, 
scrambling up the carpet, eyes burning from the smoke and throat 
seizing with pain. He focused on the three arrow shafts rising 
out of the mountain of Kahuna's back, shaking with every 
movement as the huge man tried to reach the actor pinned beneath 
him. "Orli!" Viggo finally managed to scream, finding his feet 
and staggering toward them. 

Seemingly from nowhere a Security Guard arrived, heaving Kahuna 
to one side as if he weighed nothing, reaching down toward 
Orlando where he lay motionless on the floor. Viggo cried out in 
frustration as he tried to swing his fist. The Guard sidestepped 
him smoothly, catching his arm and arresting the fall which 
would have surely followed. He steadied the actor on his feet. 

"Viggo! It's me! Rollie!" And it was. Of course, being a makeup 
man, Rollie Tyler just looked like someone else. 

That took a moment to sink in. Kahuna was trying to rise, but 
the arrows sticking out of his front and back made any motion 
nearly impossible. For just a moment Viggo thought about 
grabbing the dropped bow and whacking him with it until he 
bashed his head in, but from the depth of the arrows he guessed 
that the man would be bleeding to death very soon. 

Rollie had lifted Orlando and slipped his own head under Orli's 
arm. "Come on!" he said quickly. "The fires are getting really 
bad!" 

Viggo took Orli's other side, trying not to grab him too 
tightly. Bloom's head hung limp on his neck - he was out cold. 
They dragged him a few feet, then got a better grip and started 
almost running up the corridor. "This way!" Viggo lead them into 
another room, this one with wide windows framing the lawn. Fire 
trucks and ambulances could be seen on the drive, more arriving 
by the moment. Rollie handed Orlando over to Viggo, who found 
him easy enough to support, and found a small table he could use 
to break out the glass. By the time they were through, there was 
a uniformed fire officer there to meet them. He took Orlando's 
offered body as a hoard of people descended. 

22. Trailer 

"I crashed the car in Paddington! Can you believe it? Now I've 
got a ticket for lousy driving, as if stealing the car and 
everything else isn't fucking enough!" Elijah's voice was too 
loud, but Viggo couldn't bring himself to imply that he should 
lower it. 

"How did you crash?" Peter Jackson was asking, his voice 
reflecting his profound relief that this would be the worst of 
their worries regarding his youngest actor. Elijah had been 
given a clean release only an hour before…with nothing to calm 
his excitement, apparently. 

"I was driving on the right side of the road." 

That made Jackson laugh. "You mean the wrong side. I thought we 
had you trained!" 

"I was in a hurry! I forgot! Stupid way to run a country 
anyhow!" Elijah could really use a tranquilizer, Viggo thought 
to himself. "You should have seen the scene I had with the 
Rescue Squad! They thought I was a raving looney! And then the 
cops arrived, and I'm trying to get them to mount the big attack 
on Grant's mansion, and of course I couldn't even begin to tell 
them exactly where it was, just `back up this road, and another 
one, and it's really big a scary looking and there's a girl and 
these actors and…'" 

"I guess I'm lucky that I didn't have to bail you out of the nut 
house," Jackson was chortling. 

"Mister Mortensen?" It was one of the new bodyguards. He'd 
noticed Viggo's distressed look. "Should I get the Doctor again, 
sir?" 

"No, no," Viggo assured him. They were waiting for the results 
of his last test, sitting in the family waiting area of the 
emergency room while the doctors worked on Orli. It was quite a 
crowd. Peter and a couple of other guys from the production, the 
odd lawyer, a P.R. lady who never put her cell phone down and 
three new bodyguards -
- there was another standing at the head of Orlando's bed in the 
examining room. Assorted cops and a fire officer were still 
there too. It was a bit too much on his jangled nerves. Viggo 
felt a stab of pain as he tried to take a deep breath. 

"It's probably just cracked," the bodyguard said gently. "I've 
had cracked ribs lots of times. You'll feel much better when 
they wrap it." 

"Viggo Mortensen?" called a nurse, straining to be heard at the 
edge of the crowd. 

"Here," he said, rising. Whatever they were going to do to him 
now would have to be better than sitting in the waiting room any 
longer. The bodyguard started to take his elbow, then read his 
body language and backed off, following. 

"If you need anything, Vig…" Peter assured him as he passed. 

After they'd gone a few meters up the corridor the nurse spoke 
softly. "Orlando was asking to see you, alone." She obviously 
took a dim view of the circus in the waiting area. They arrived 
at a door where Orli's bodyguard was posted, looking almost 
exactly like the guy following Viggo. They must get these guys 
from a factory. He shed the crowd and slipped into the sterile 
room, closing the door behind him. 

"You're awake," he said in greeting, finding Bloom's dark eyes 
on him. 

Orlando smiled nervously. He still looked a half shade better 
than dead, though the transfused blood was bringing some color 
back into the pale face. They had him propped high in the bed, 
monitors of every size and description reading his functions 
like a book. "Have I ever mentioned how much I hate hospitals?" 
Orli asked. 

"Join the club." Viggo took his hand, the action natural and 
accepted. 

"I can't believe you came after me," Orli said after a long 
pause. 

"I didn't. I came after Elijah. You just happened to be there." 

"Liar. You came back into a burning building to get me." His 
eyes were filling with tears. 

Probably just the pain, Viggo told himself. He felt his own 
emotions roiling in response. "You didn't do so bad yourself. 
You took Kahuna down with a movie prop." He didn't continue the 
thought aloud - what if Orlando hadn't been there? Viggo would 
be dead, he was sure of it. 

"Did I kill him?" The words were spoken so softly, Viggo almost 
couldn't hear over the hiss of oxygen and jumble of the 
monitors. 

He had to think about that one carefully before answering. "I 
don't know, Orli. He was still alive when we got you out of 
there." 

The emotions tumbled transparently across Orlando's face. 

Viggo had to say it: "I hope you did." There, he'd said it 
aloud. There was no denying it now. "Marteen is dead." 

Surprise, and maybe a bit of relief. "After Sylvie…?" 

"I found him at his desk. Looked like he did it himself. He 
won't be going to jail for any of this now, the bastard." He 
wanted to change the subject, to inject some sort of life back 
into their words. "Peter's livid. He's got every lawyer in New 
Zealand on hold." 

"How's Elijah?" 

"He's rewriting the script already," Viggo said with a smile in 
his eyes. "By the time he gets around to telling the Hobbits 
about his big adventure he'll be the star player." 

Orlando's own smile was a faint imitation of Viggo's. "He is the 
star, Vig." 

Squeezing his hand one more time, Viggo released Orli and lifted 
the covers to examine the battered body before him. If Orlando 
objected to the scrutiny he refrained from saying anything. 
"This isn't as bad as I'd thought. From Elijah's hysteria I had 
you figured for death's door." 

"The lung is doing real well, they tell me. It's still draining 
blood, but that's better than letting it build up in my chest 
and collapsing the squishy bits. This puncture near my hip is 
new - I think it's the back end of one of my arrows, from when 
Kahuna fell on me." 

"Yikes! Must have felt like a troll hitting you. How'd you get 
the bow, anyhow?" 

"Doctor Peg. She brought it right after Sylvie passed away. I 
think she guessed that they weren't going to let us go without a 
fight. She took me to her room. Pretty brave, for an unethical 
bitch." 

"Orli, I'm surprised," Viggo teased. "The love is practically 
dripping off you. Did you know that Tyler had been getting all 
over the house? He'd filched a guard's uniform and was doing 
makeup on himself and roaming far and wide. He could have gotten 
himself out whenever he wanted after the second day." 

"Why in god's name did he stay, then?" 

"To take care of you. He was far more worried when they brought 
Elijah in. He seems to think that actors aren't the most 
competent survivalists around." 

"He's never been to an open casting call," Orli mused. 

"I think we did pretty well," Viggo confessed, tucking the sheet 
back around his friend's thin body. "We survived Sauron, didn't 
we?" 

"Indeed, smelly Man. Perhaps now you can wash your hair." 

"Geesh, let me call your manicurist, Elf Boy." 


The Lord's Martini

Series: Torn Souls, part 2
Pairing: Orlando Bloom/Viggo Mortensen
Rating: NC17
Summary: During the last days of filming Lords -Viggo, Elijah 
and Orlando come to terms with what happened in Australia when 
the three actors were held against their will by a grieving (and 
evil!) father intent on making his dying daughter's last days 
happy.
Author's Notes: Martini - movie jargon referring to the last day 
of filming on a big project
Disclaimer: I don't know these people, I don't mean to imply 
that this story is in any way, shape or form true, and I'm doing 
it for fun. Please don't get mad. 


1. Script notes 

Viggo really thought he had it back together. Sure, he was 
worried about the kids -- not his own son, thank God -- the kids 
in his extended family. Particularly Orlando and Elijah. He was 
worried…but not devastatingly so. After all, everyone was mostly 
healthy and back at work. Sure, there were bound to be 
complications -- but they were young. All they had to do was get 
through these couple of weeks of shooting and then everyone 
would move on to other projects, other lives. They'd survived; 
they'd all be fine. 

Then he found the note. 

It was his third day back, 6:15 AM, and the makeup girl left him 
to go get a new brush from the supply room. He was halfway 
transformed into Aragorn. The face that met his eyes in the 
mirror was neither his own, nor that of the King of Gondor. It 
was someone in between, someone in transition. He didn't know 
this person. He was alone for the first time in days, and a 
stranger looked at him from the mirror. 

The bodyguard Peter had saddled him with was right outside the 
door, enjoying his coffee. They weren't taking any chances with 
the marathon shoot so close to finished. Enough time had already 
been lost when Orlando, and then Elijah, had gone missing. Every 
moment spent doing anything that didn't end up on film was 
accompanied by the sound of money pouring down a big hole, and 
by the thin screams of their Producers. He had to be on set in 
thirty minutes. Maybe one more quick look at his lines…. 

The note was under his script. He probably wouldn't have even 
noticed it if his eye hadn't spotted his own name, typed so 
neatly on the heading. He picked the sheet up: 

//MEMO: To all Department Heads and Service Personnel
RE: Treatment of Actors VIGGO, ORLANDO, ELIJAH
FROM: New Line / Peter Jackson 

Once again it must be stressed that there is to be NO MENTION of 
the incidents last week to the actors. There have been a few 
minor leaks to the MEDIA, but we've been able to contain this so 
far. ANYONE who speaks to MEDIA on record or off will be 
immediately terminated and may be prosecuted. Do not reference 
the incident to friends or relatives in NZ or elsewhere. 
Remember that all communication may be monitored! 

A Note From Peter: Orlando Bloom, Elijah Wood and Viggo 
Mortensen are not to be harassed in any way. You are being asked 
not to question them about the kidnappings and to report to me 
immediately anyone who does. The bodyguards assigned to the cast 
members are to be treated civilly, but without undue attention. 
They are professionals; do not interfere with them in any way. 
Do not attempt to engage them in conversation. Please report any 
unusual activity regarding the actors immediately. At this time 
we need to show our unreserved respect and affection for these 
guys.// 

It hit Viggo like a slap. He cringed, trying to guess how he'd 
react to getting a memo like this about Sean Bean, or Dominic, 
or any of the others. It made him feel weak to think that they 
felt he needed to be coddled. Elijah and Orli, sure…but Viggo? 
Tough old man Viggo? He heard the makeup girl talking to his 
bodyguard as she came up the steps, and he hastily hid the note 
beneath his script again. She was chattering about something 
inane as she went back to work. He didn't care; he wasn't 
listening. 

Orlando didn't like this costume. Legolas' leather battle armor 
rubbed at the neck and waist, and the pants rode up. He twisted 
his head to one side and slid his finger under the collar once 
again, trying to ease the pain where his skin was getting raw. 
Marcie was there in a heartbeat, waiting for him to move his 
hand. As soon as he did she leaned in to fix the makeup on his 
throat, to make sure nothing showed on the black leather. She 
didn't say anything about his squirming, didn't tell him to 
leave it alone. Not like she used to. "Orli, hands off the 
hair!" had been a mantra on the set for the last two years. He 
used to hear it in his sleep. He'd gotten so he wouldn't even 
touch his own hair when they weren't filming. 

Marcie gave him a quick smile and darted away again. Orli's 
thoughts drifted for a moment back to Rollie Tyler. Now there 
was an interesting man. Dead straight, sadly. That had been 
strange in it's own way, considering his line of business, but 
Rollie's true interest was in Special Effects, and that was 
about as butch as the movie business ever got, that and stunts. 
Those guys would no sooner date an actor than they'd let him do 
his own falls. 

He took a deep breath and winced when the pain returned - a 
sharp hot stab of discomfort from the stitches in the torn 
muscle and skin beneath his ribs. He squeezed his eyes shut. 

"Orlando?" The voice of his guardian angel -- at least the one 
on the current shift. 

"I'm fine, Michael," he said, not wanting to open his eyes to 
see the cool detachment, the professional appraisal. He didn't 
want to be reminded that it was just a job to Michael. Glorified 
babysitting. 

"It's time that you took your medication." 

The sigh was unavoidable, as was the pain it caused. He did his 
best to keep it off his face. He didn't ever want to try playing 
cards with the bodyguards. He took the proffered pill, then the 
Styrofoam cup of water, eyes wandering over the soundstage. Why 
was it that thirty seconds of film required four hours of 
lighting? Michael turned away, and Orli spit the pill out of 
sight. These close-ups were critical. He wouldn't be doing 
Legolas justice to perform the shots in a haze of drugs. There 
had been enough drugged out performances early in the 
production. He was embarrassed to remember all the times he'd 
shown up for work with a buzz. Amazing that they hadn't fired 
him a dozen times. 

"Five minutes," someone promised. 

Orli closed his eyes again, reaching inside himself to find 
Legolas Green-leaf. The Elf had been elusive of late. He seemed 
as disgusted with Orli as the actor was with himself. There he 
was, stalking around in the back corner of Orli's mind. He 
brought him forward gently, slowly leaning into Legolas's 
strength, his determination, his ever-lasting patience and 
fortitude. He felt his own compromised resolve crumble as 
Legolas took over. 

"It's all right, Man," the Elf told him. "I'm here now." 

Michael watched the transformation keenly. He had no idea how 
Orlando did that trick. He'd only recently realized that it 
wasn't the costumes or the play-acting with other people. It was 
something internal. No more trace of impatience or lines of pain 
on the actor's face, just a calm acceptance and readiness. 
Michael knew he wouldn't be seeing Orlando Bloom again until 
Legolas let him go. It was creepy. 

"Elijah, Please! Just a few more minutes!" The prosthetics man 
sounded too tired for it to be so early in the morning. 

He tried to stop himself from squirming. But it was so hard! 
They took forever! 

"Hey, try not to think about it," Sean Astin told him. He was 
getting his own feet applied, slouched in the chair next to 
Elijah and reading the Journal. It looked like some horrible 
`before and after' photo shoot for a pedicure advertisement. 
Only thing was, when the prosthetics team were finished they 
were always the frightening `befores'. 

"What do you want to do after work?" Elijah asked Sean. 

"I dunno," came the reply. "We're probably going to be pretty 
late. You do remember that they're taking us to the second unit 
after lunch, don't you?" 

"We could go out with the guys," Elijah urged. "Dom isn't even 
shooting today." 

Sean put his paper aside and finally met his eyes. "Maybe," he 
finally said. "You think Orli would come with us? He hasn't 
socialized since you boys got back from Oz." 

"Orli needs his rest," Elijah said. He knew what Sean really 
meant, but he couldn't be held accountable for Orlando's loss of 
rank as the Resident Party Monster. After all, it wasn't HIS 
fault if Orli wanted to sulk. 

Jahred's hand slipped and a paintbrush scratched against 
Elijah's calf, causing a moment of pain. He kicked out angrily, 
without thinking, and his hobbit foot caught the technician in 
the side of his head, knocking him over backwards. A metal tray 
crashed to the floor, Elijah's skin stung where the glue had 
come loose. "God DAMMIT!" he cursed. His bodyguard was on his 
feet, gazing across the room intently. 

Jahred climbed back to his feet slowly, rubbing his chin. 

"I'm sorry," Elijah said. "I…I didn't mean to do that, Jah. 
Really. You just startled me." 

"It's all right," the man said, exchanging looks with the other 
technicians. 

Elijah caught Sean's gaze on him. "What?" he demanded. 

"Nothing," Sean told him. "It just looks like it's going to be a 
really long day." 

2. Craft Services 

Viggo hunched down with his back against the pile of props and 
gnawed on his bagel. He was quoting lines from Shakespeare in 
his head: Hamlet, of course, the Greatest Dane. He found it 
perversely interesting to watch his bodyguard. The man was a few 
meters away, talking to his replacement, bringing the next shift 
up to date. "And he was in the toilet for five minutes," Viggo 
said to himself, guessing the words. "Better tell craft services 
to get more bran on the tables." 

Several of the Union Guys were moving equipment behind him, 
grumbling and complaining, as usual. "You heard about Tyson?" 
one of them said. 

"I didn't see him yesterday," another answered. Viggo stopped 
chewing to listen. 

"Sacked as well," said the first voice. 

"You're kidding! Tyson wasn't on the list." 

"How do we know? They said he had a couple of big deposits in 
his bank account that he couldn't explain. Damn shame, with that 
new kiddie at home. His wife's most likely livid. She's got that 
thing with her mother." 

"You think he was really taking Marteen's money?" 

"You got me. Hell, I'd've taken it, if it was offered. This job 
ends in another couple weeks, then who knows how long until the 
next movie starts, and who they'll be hiring?" 

"Mister Mortensen?" the voice snapped him back to reality. "Is 
there anything you need right now?" 

"Uh, Carlos?" He had to try to remember the names of all the 
ponies in the Viggo Stable. 

"Yes, Sir. Is there anything?" 

"Sure. Bring me back my carefree life." 

Carlos smiled slowly. "I'll see what I can do." 

"In the mean time, ask one of the girls if they can get me a 
drink. Anything with scotch in it, preferably just scotch." 

Carlos nodded like he understood. 

"And CUT!" called the loud voice. "Nobody move, please. Keep 
your places. We'll just be a moment checking how this looks." 

Legolas shifted onto one hip, resting the end of his longbow on 
the floor. He gazed up into the dark rafters of the soaring 
soundstage overhead, eyes focusing past the burning lights and 
the maze of catwalks. He wondered if the sun was still up. 

A clanking of armor and Gimli came to his side. "Orli, are you 
all right?" 

He smiled at his old friend, dropping his chin and wondering at 
the changes wrought in Gimli's weathered face. 

"Orli? Your hands are white," John Rhys-Davies said. He started 
to touch the cold skin, then thought better of it. They'd warned 
him not to touch Orlando unless necessary. "Can we get a chair 
here?" he boomed out, turning to find that Orlando's bodyguard 
was hesitating, obviously wanting to come over. They'd been 
warned quite firmly to stay out of shot and off the hot sets. 

"You're growing old on this quest, Gimli," Legolas teased. 
"Though it's hard to discern with this hairy visage. But you 
cannot fool me, Master Dwarf." He swayed just a bit, like a 
sapling in a breeze. 

"CHAIR!" Rhys-Davies shouted. 

Everyone arrived at once, and Orlando was firmly deposited in 
one of the studio chairs --Peter's, to judge from the name on 
the back. The bow was removed from clenched fingers and bottled 
water proffered. Orli blinked several times, then sank down, 
visibly trembling, as he seemed to shrink. The water bottle fell 
from his grasp and hit the stage floor with a heavy thump. 

"Get the medic!" Michael instructed, one hand clamped across 
Orli's chest, keeping him upright. 

"Don't be stupid," Orlando said, rousing himself. "I'm fine. 
Just a moment of dizziness. I'm sure it's the drugs." Or lack 
thereof, he admitted to himself. 

John studied his face intently. "Where were you, mate? It was 
like you'd stepped out for a minute." 

How could he explain it? How could he tell them that Legolas was 
just trying to help? He couldn't…he wouldn't. He dug his fingers 
under the choking collar on his leather jerkin. 

"Mister Bloom!" called the costume master, coming towards them 
at a good clip. "If you, sir, bleed into my fabulous battle 
armor, I'll kill you!" 

The bodyguard, unused to the flamboyant costumer, was the only 
one who stiffened. 

"Poor baby," the master continued. "Is this neck too tight? You 
want out?" He was already touching and adjusting, tugging at the 
stiff material. 

"I'll be fine," Orlando said, trying hard not to wince whenever 
fingers touched his neck or face. "It's just rubbing a bit." 

"Well, I can see why!" the costumer gushed. "Let me get my knife 
and some moleskin. We'll have this fixed in no time. Uhm, you 
really aren't bleeding under there, are you darling? I won't 
kill you, I promise." 

"No, I'm fine." 

"Good on you, then." He swished away in grand style. 

Michael had another water, this time with a straw. He pressed 
the liquid on Orli, watching his face intently as the actor 
drank. "You need another pill?" he asked. "How about something 
to eat?" 

Suddenly tears sprang to Orli's eyes. He blinked them away 
fiercely. "I just need to be left alone," he complained. Most of 
the concerned crew dispersed. John was left standing next to the 
frazzled actor. "It's all right," he told him, speaking softly. 

"I wish it was," Orli whispered back, crawling inside himself. 

It was indeed very late when Elijah finally got back from the 
set. His bodyguard stepped inside to check the house, then left, 
reminding Elijah to check in if he made any plans. His roommate, 
Billy, was ready for bed, down to his drawers and sitting on the 
couch with his laptop, e-mailing a pep talk to his little 
sister. 

"You wanna go out?" Elijah asked. 

"Do I LOOK like I want to go out?" Billy questioned, brow 
raised. "We were out last night." 

"This is tonight!" 

"Yeah, and I'm on the call sheet for 5:20. You went out last 
night, Lij. Get some rest." 

The anger came quickly and without warning. "Don't you try to 
fucking mother me!" 

Billy didn't answer, just looking at Elijah with that cupid's 
mouth of his drawn tight. His silence spoke more eloquently than 
words could have. 

Elijah threw his gym bag on the floor and stomped off to his 
room. Dom and Sean had turned him down too. It was a solo job or 
nothing. Hitting the light switch, Elijah crossed to the closet, 
still undecided about making his way into town to visit a club. 
He knew it would be a mistake, but it was one he wanted to make. 
He needed companionship. He needed to forget himself in music 
and booze and bodies that weren't residents of Middle-earth. 

"Fucking Billy," he mumbled, looking through his clothing 
options. The clean laundry hadn't been delivered yet. And yet, 
the shirts weren't in the same order they'd been that morning. 
Several hangers had been rearranged. 

Elijah opened his bedroom door and shouted down the hall. 
"Billy, you cocksucker! Have you been rummaging in my shirts?" 

"As if!" came the reply. "I'd just as likely borrow something 
from Orli - the man with the worst clothing sense in the 
Southern Hemisphere." 

Elijah slammed the door again. Fine…he'd just grab a shower and 
then go to bed. Alone. A few minutes later he was waiting for 
the hot water to get flowing, and he reached for his comb. It 
wasn't where he'd left it. Only six inches away, but it had 
definitely been moved. His razor had also been touched. The 
deodorant was on a different shelf in the medicine cabinet. It 
wasn't cleaning day - and no one should have been in his room. 
He stomped out. 

"Billy - did you touch anything in my room?" 

Boyd looked up from his computer screen. "Hmm, a naked hobbit. 
Now I see why they call you the `little ones'." 

"Ha ha. Seriously, have you been touching my stuff, for any 
reason?" 

"Nope. I left before you this morning. Haven't been anywhere but 
my own room and here tonight. What's wrong?" 

"Nothing, I guess," Elijah sighed. "I'm just paranoid." He 
turned to start that shower. 

"Halfling." 

"Right back at you, stud." 

Billy smiled at the crack. That was more like his friend. He 
returned his attention to his computer. 

3. Lead-In 

"Hey, thanks for joining me," Peter said, rising partially out 
of his seat as Orlando stepped into the Director's trailer. 

Orlando smiled nervously, balancing a plate of breakfast food in 
one hand, a pitcher of fresh juice from the catering tent in the 
other. He left his bodyguard outside the door and let it close 
behind him, taking a seat across from Peter Jackson. "Want some 
orange juice?" he offered. 

"I do if that's all they had. You always abscond with the whole 
pitcher?" 

"I'm thirsty," Orlando confessed. He hadn't brought a glass, and 
the kitchenette was behind Peter. Orlando waited until Peter 
wasn't looking, then took a drink right from the pitcher. That 
was better. 

"I wanted to talk to you, Orli," Peter started ominously. 

"Is this where I get fired?" He couldn't believe he'd said it 
aloud. His face blanched. 

"What? Oh, yeah, funny one, Orli. With every girl in North 
America hanging posters of Legolas on their closet doors, and 
half of one percent of the last movie left to film, I'm going to 
fire you." His laughter broke the tension in the room. 

"Well, I wondered. Am I getting a raise, then?" 

"With your percentage of the gross? Greedy little nobody 
bastard, aren't you?" 

"Greedy little nobody bastard who's hanging on every closet door 
in Britain too, Peter. My points are a fraction of a fraction." 

"I am not discussing money with you, nobody. Have your agent try 
that sort of shit. That's what agent's are for." They were 
finally back to their old level and tone of conversation. Orli 
pushed the eggs around his plate and smiled to himself, 
picturing all those girls gazing adoringly at Legolas. Boys too, 
most likely, not that he minded either way. 

"How're the injuries?" Peter asked. 

"Okay," he lied smoothly. He was getting good at lying. "No 
worrie