Chapter 4: Night Terrors
Jan. 20th, 2005 06:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brainofckTitle/Chapter: Chapter 4: Night Terrors
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
muck_a_luck, posting in brainofck
Pairing: SB/VM (other pairings in later chapters)
Rating: PG-13 (to NC-17 in later chapters)
Summary: Viggo is somewhere else, where everyone and no one is the same
Content/warnings: AU. Violence.
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: Slash is fiction. So while we may all be demented, slash is basically the author's ownporno script, populated by the individuals she feels would be ideal to fill the various roles if she ruled the universe if she were ever fortunate enough have the opportunity to bring her vision to the screen. *snortle*
Archive rights: www.rugbytackling.com, Green Opals, if they're interestd, and my journalsmuck_a_luck and brainofck
Further Disclaimer: Any resemblance to Ancient Rome mostly incidental. I have never seen any gladiator flick. Ever. Honest. Not even stinky Gladiator that stole FOTR's Oscar. *glares*
Blame:uisgich, for encouraging me
0 Years
Arena
Water and Oil
Flesh and Iron
The days wore away. Viggo trained constantly. In the mornings, they focused on teaching him new weapons. He became proficient with several. The afternoons were devoted to practice with the sword. Basic sparring with members of the barracks. Coaching in technique from the Weapons Master, learning how to use a sword to fight the strange weapons he'd practiced with in the morning. How to face an opponent with a spear, a hook, an ax, a club - it went on and on. If he had been training for a role, it would have been an amazing experience, he often thought. But he knew there was a purpose to this training. Eventually he was going to be ordered to use it, perhaps in another large battle like the one he'd fought that first day. Or maybe in some other entertainment that would be much more cold-blooded and personal.
And even if he pushed those thoughts away for a while, every night the bar fell into place across the door behind him.
At night he dreamed nightmares of the arena. On that day he fought like a berserker, out of his head, and could hardly remember any of it in the waking hours. But the dreams were vivid with images of mangled bodies and bloodied hands and merciless steel. And everynight, in his nightmares, Viggo looked down at the ground at his feet and saw Sean with Viggo's own sword though his gut.
Viggo would startle out of these dreams, heart pounding, trembling, sometimes crying, once screaming. He would wake in the strange shadowy room he now shared with Sean. After the first night of dreams, Sean had left the fire burning brightly on their small hearth, though the sleeping platform was layered in warm quilted comforters and down cushions. The two of them in it together made it almost unbearably hot, but Sean seemed to understand that Viggo needed the light in the night.
Viggo gasped awake. He shoved himself up to all fours and sat back onto the mattress, dragging the covers with him. Sean, who had over the last few weeks learned to sleep through all but the worst of Viggo's night terrors, cracked a sleepy eye to protest the covers being pulled away. Viggo was wild-eyed and shaking in the firelight, talking to him in his outlandish tongue. His look was unfocused and far away, looking directly at Sean, but also through him. Sean thought maybe he was still trapped in the dream, not quite able to wake up from the horror. Tears were streaming down his face. It sounded like Viggo was begging, pleading with him for something Sean couldn't understand.
Sean sat up slowly. He reached out and took his friend by both shoulders, shaking him gently.
"Viggo," he murmured, "It's alright. It was only a dream. Wake up now."
Those distressed, strangely sightless eyes fell still unfocused on Sean's face. Then in a strange, thick accent, Viggo said, "You're not him. You're not Sean. He's not here. And I killed you. You're dead. What's happening Sean? I don't understand what's happening." Then he faded away again, rambling off into alien speech, then dissolving back into sobs.
It was heartbreaking. Sean shook him hard this time.
"Viggo," he called, much louder this time. "Viggo! Wake up, Viggo. It's over now. Viggo!"
With a start, Viggo's eyes snapped into clear focus. Viggo was with him again. He looked confused, then embarrassed.
"Sorry," Viggo said. He scrubbed at his wet face with both hands, then climbed off their bed to go wash his face in the basin. He took a long drink of the cool, fresh water there, then slowly crawled back up onto the bed. He lay down again facing away from Sean, looking out the window into the night. Sean pulled the covers over them both and lay down close behind his friend, wrapping his arms around him. Viggo squirmed away from him.
"No," he said clearly, then followed it up with more in his own language. Sean just tightened his arms and held him until he gave up his resistance and went still.
"Go back to sleep," whispered Sean, and he tried to follow his own advice.
Only to find that he couldn't. His mind was going in circles now. Sean was caught completely off guard by Viggo's sleep-talking. The outburst showed a mastery and understanding of his new langugage that Sean would never have guessed. As far as he knew all Viggo had picked up was "sorry" and "thank-you." Not even "please" seemed to be in his vocabulary yet. But now Sean wondered just how much Viggo knew. How much he understood.
How much Sean himself had said, thinking he was protected by words, or the lack of them.
Sean had said so many things.
"We fight in a week," Sean said. Viggo looked up, startled by the announcement, and immediately fought to change his expression from shocked to bland lack of understanding.
Sean looked him straight in the eye and just shook his head.
"You can stop playing this game with me, Viggo. I know you've understood everything anybody's said to you for weeks. We fight again next week. Do you understand what that means?"
Sean was right, of course. Viggo had been soaking in the words and phrases, though he still didn't get every word. He had hidden his understanding as a means for rejecting complicated commands and trying to maintain the small advantage of the outsider. But Sean if knew... Viggo shrugged and tried out the new words for the first time.
"Why do they think I will fight?" They felt strange on his tongue.
Sean looked at him hard. "If you don't fight, you die. Everyone fights."
"Maybe I'd rather die than be a murderer," Viggo replied. The words came slowly. But he was fairly certain they were right.
"Maybe," Sean agreed. There was quiet in the room. Just the crackling from their fire, and the occassional squeal and giggle from the woman Maris was fucking next door.
"Have you noticed that you are the only prisoner here?" Sean asked, suddenly. "I know you're angry that they marked you. I'm angry they marked you. But that can't be changed now. You live here. You will be a slave in the arena until you are given your freedom, or buy it, or die for the entertainment of others. If you accept that fact as unchangeable, this is a good life. We eat meat every day. Soft bread. The best fruits and vegetables in season. A warm, dry, safe place to live." A particularly loud squeal from the next room interrupted him, "Women if you want them." Then a calculating long look. "Men if you don't."
Viggo just stared into the fire and didn't reply. Sean sighed in exasperation.
"Did you know I'm a wealthy man?" Sean asked. Viggo didn't know, of course, but he had been practicing not reacting for almost three months now, and it was easy to just gaze into the fire and not show his surprise.
"I sold myself to the Weapons Master. I gave half the money to my sister and half to an old friend of my mother's to hold for me. I have added to it every time I have fought in the arena. Masters traditionally give a portion of a slave's award monies to him. And Sennet is a generous master. And I often gamble on my own fights. And I always win. I already have the money to buy a small estate, when I'm free."
"You could have that, too," Sean said.
"Maybe I don't want to be a hired killer," Viggo said softly.
Sean was annoyed now. "Everyone who enters that arena is a killer," said Sean. "Everyone you meet there wants to kill you. You aren't a murderer. You are a warrior on the battlefield, facing your enemy and fighting for your life."
"Really?" asked Viggo. "And what if they put me in the arena and tell me to fight you?" For some reason, suddenly Viggo couldn't look Sean in the eye. So he looked back into the depths of their fire instead.
He was surprised when Sean laughed. A scornful, angry laugh, that brought Viggo's eyes back to his friend's face. "We fight again in a week, Viggo. Sennet has taken it into his head to fight us as a pair. So you won't be fighting me, at least not anytime soon. But if you decided not to fight, it might not just be your suicide..."
And Viggo had thought they couldn't force him.
First
Author:
muck_a_luck, posting in brainofckPairing: SB/VM (other pairings in later chapters)
Rating: PG-13 (to NC-17 in later chapters)
Summary: Viggo is somewhere else, where everyone and no one is the same
Content/warnings: AU. Violence.
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: Slash is fiction. So while we may all be demented, slash is basically the author's own
Archive rights: www.rugbytackling.com, Green Opals, if they're interestd, and my journals
muck_a_luck and brainofckFurther Disclaimer: Any resemblance to Ancient Rome mostly incidental. I have never seen any gladiator flick. Ever. Honest. Not even stinky Gladiator that stole FOTR's Oscar. *glares*
Blame:
uisgich, for encouraging me0 Years
Arena
Water and Oil
Flesh and Iron
The days wore away. Viggo trained constantly. In the mornings, they focused on teaching him new weapons. He became proficient with several. The afternoons were devoted to practice with the sword. Basic sparring with members of the barracks. Coaching in technique from the Weapons Master, learning how to use a sword to fight the strange weapons he'd practiced with in the morning. How to face an opponent with a spear, a hook, an ax, a club - it went on and on. If he had been training for a role, it would have been an amazing experience, he often thought. But he knew there was a purpose to this training. Eventually he was going to be ordered to use it, perhaps in another large battle like the one he'd fought that first day. Or maybe in some other entertainment that would be much more cold-blooded and personal.
And even if he pushed those thoughts away for a while, every night the bar fell into place across the door behind him.
At night he dreamed nightmares of the arena. On that day he fought like a berserker, out of his head, and could hardly remember any of it in the waking hours. But the dreams were vivid with images of mangled bodies and bloodied hands and merciless steel. And everynight, in his nightmares, Viggo looked down at the ground at his feet and saw Sean with Viggo's own sword though his gut.
Viggo would startle out of these dreams, heart pounding, trembling, sometimes crying, once screaming. He would wake in the strange shadowy room he now shared with Sean. After the first night of dreams, Sean had left the fire burning brightly on their small hearth, though the sleeping platform was layered in warm quilted comforters and down cushions. The two of them in it together made it almost unbearably hot, but Sean seemed to understand that Viggo needed the light in the night.
Viggo gasped awake. He shoved himself up to all fours and sat back onto the mattress, dragging the covers with him. Sean, who had over the last few weeks learned to sleep through all but the worst of Viggo's night terrors, cracked a sleepy eye to protest the covers being pulled away. Viggo was wild-eyed and shaking in the firelight, talking to him in his outlandish tongue. His look was unfocused and far away, looking directly at Sean, but also through him. Sean thought maybe he was still trapped in the dream, not quite able to wake up from the horror. Tears were streaming down his face. It sounded like Viggo was begging, pleading with him for something Sean couldn't understand.
Sean sat up slowly. He reached out and took his friend by both shoulders, shaking him gently.
"Viggo," he murmured, "It's alright. It was only a dream. Wake up now."
Those distressed, strangely sightless eyes fell still unfocused on Sean's face. Then in a strange, thick accent, Viggo said, "You're not him. You're not Sean. He's not here. And I killed you. You're dead. What's happening Sean? I don't understand what's happening." Then he faded away again, rambling off into alien speech, then dissolving back into sobs.
It was heartbreaking. Sean shook him hard this time.
"Viggo," he called, much louder this time. "Viggo! Wake up, Viggo. It's over now. Viggo!"
With a start, Viggo's eyes snapped into clear focus. Viggo was with him again. He looked confused, then embarrassed.
"Sorry," Viggo said. He scrubbed at his wet face with both hands, then climbed off their bed to go wash his face in the basin. He took a long drink of the cool, fresh water there, then slowly crawled back up onto the bed. He lay down again facing away from Sean, looking out the window into the night. Sean pulled the covers over them both and lay down close behind his friend, wrapping his arms around him. Viggo squirmed away from him.
"No," he said clearly, then followed it up with more in his own language. Sean just tightened his arms and held him until he gave up his resistance and went still.
"Go back to sleep," whispered Sean, and he tried to follow his own advice.
Only to find that he couldn't. His mind was going in circles now. Sean was caught completely off guard by Viggo's sleep-talking. The outburst showed a mastery and understanding of his new langugage that Sean would never have guessed. As far as he knew all Viggo had picked up was "sorry" and "thank-you." Not even "please" seemed to be in his vocabulary yet. But now Sean wondered just how much Viggo knew. How much he understood.
How much Sean himself had said, thinking he was protected by words, or the lack of them.
Sean had said so many things.
"We fight in a week," Sean said. Viggo looked up, startled by the announcement, and immediately fought to change his expression from shocked to bland lack of understanding.
Sean looked him straight in the eye and just shook his head.
"You can stop playing this game with me, Viggo. I know you've understood everything anybody's said to you for weeks. We fight again next week. Do you understand what that means?"
Sean was right, of course. Viggo had been soaking in the words and phrases, though he still didn't get every word. He had hidden his understanding as a means for rejecting complicated commands and trying to maintain the small advantage of the outsider. But Sean if knew... Viggo shrugged and tried out the new words for the first time.
"Why do they think I will fight?" They felt strange on his tongue.
Sean looked at him hard. "If you don't fight, you die. Everyone fights."
"Maybe I'd rather die than be a murderer," Viggo replied. The words came slowly. But he was fairly certain they were right.
"Maybe," Sean agreed. There was quiet in the room. Just the crackling from their fire, and the occassional squeal and giggle from the woman Maris was fucking next door.
"Have you noticed that you are the only prisoner here?" Sean asked, suddenly. "I know you're angry that they marked you. I'm angry they marked you. But that can't be changed now. You live here. You will be a slave in the arena until you are given your freedom, or buy it, or die for the entertainment of others. If you accept that fact as unchangeable, this is a good life. We eat meat every day. Soft bread. The best fruits and vegetables in season. A warm, dry, safe place to live." A particularly loud squeal from the next room interrupted him, "Women if you want them." Then a calculating long look. "Men if you don't."
Viggo just stared into the fire and didn't reply. Sean sighed in exasperation.
"Did you know I'm a wealthy man?" Sean asked. Viggo didn't know, of course, but he had been practicing not reacting for almost three months now, and it was easy to just gaze into the fire and not show his surprise.
"I sold myself to the Weapons Master. I gave half the money to my sister and half to an old friend of my mother's to hold for me. I have added to it every time I have fought in the arena. Masters traditionally give a portion of a slave's award monies to him. And Sennet is a generous master. And I often gamble on my own fights. And I always win. I already have the money to buy a small estate, when I'm free."
"You could have that, too," Sean said.
"Maybe I don't want to be a hired killer," Viggo said softly.
Sean was annoyed now. "Everyone who enters that arena is a killer," said Sean. "Everyone you meet there wants to kill you. You aren't a murderer. You are a warrior on the battlefield, facing your enemy and fighting for your life."
"Really?" asked Viggo. "And what if they put me in the arena and tell me to fight you?" For some reason, suddenly Viggo couldn't look Sean in the eye. So he looked back into the depths of their fire instead.
He was surprised when Sean laughed. A scornful, angry laugh, that brought Viggo's eyes back to his friend's face. "We fight again in a week, Viggo. Sennet has taken it into his head to fight us as a pair. So you won't be fighting me, at least not anytime soon. But if you decided not to fight, it might not just be your suicide..."
And Viggo had thought they couldn't force him.
First
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-03-16 01:03 pm (UTC)But I am enjoying this a lot. I've written part of a Roman AU (although it's nothing like this, it's set on Hadrian's wall) and its a world I love.
Making him fight with Sean is interesting, I'm waiting to see what will happen.
You did?
Date: 2005-03-16 01:11 pm (UTC)Title, please? :)
Re: You did?
Date: 2005-03-16 01:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-16 02:20 pm (UTC)SB/VM/OB
Date: 2005-03-16 02:28 pm (UTC)I can promise you there's a lot of SB/VM to go. I haven't even gotten to any other pairings yet in what I've written thus far, though they are coming eventually.
Heh. She said "coming." < /beevis and butthead >
Glad you like it thus far, and hope to keep you happy at least a little longer.
no subject
Date: 2005-03-16 03:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-16 03:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-16 03:59 pm (UTC)"Women if you want them"/"Men if you don't" - well, just as long as the boys are in the middle of it, I'm more than happy...
no subject
Date: 2005-03-16 04:04 pm (UTC)*eg* I was pleased with that, too.
no subject
Date: 2005-03-16 04:43 pm (UTC)Dammit, I want to know what happens next! *pouts* No fair locking chapters! *grin*
~Kris
no subject
Date: 2005-03-16 04:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-16 09:25 pm (UTC)But don´t feel hurried by me :-)
Very good, I like it a lot. (May be because I loved "Gladiator"!)
no subject
Date: 2005-03-17 05:58 am (UTC)Oh, that was a low blow and Sean knows it.
You, my dear, are wonderful. Can we hope for daily updates? Or was this a one time thing? *crosses her fingers and hopes*
Adrienne
no subject
Date: 2005-03-17 07:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-26 10:55 am (UTC)So interesting
Date: 2005-03-26 12:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-21 10:56 pm (UTC)