Arena: Chapter 21: Homecoming, Part IV
May. 3rd, 2005 07:32 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brainofckTitle/Chapter: Homecoming, Part IV
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: NC-17
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 interested, 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 Gladiator, which I have been informed did not steal FOTR's Oscar, as it won the Oscar the year prior. I still blame Russell Crowe, though. *glares*
Blame:uisgich, for encouraging me
The Arena Homepage
Chapter 20: Homecoming, Part III
"He is not fit to be seen by anyone," the steward stepped in swiftly. "Certainly not to be presented to the Emperor. Do we have time to make him presentable?"
The Assessor looked around the small office where the steward had brought him so they could conduct business more privately.
"Fine," he said, apparently unperturbed. "If you could arrange for whatever needs to be done for the slave, then show me the house while we wait, I can report more to my master.
Viggo had no idea how long he had been in the room. It couldn't really have been that long. But absolute darkness and damp and chill were stretching time in strange ways, he was sure. They had brought him food twice, but he wouldn't eat it. The memory of Sean that morning before their last fight played before his eyes in the darkness. He knew eventually he would have to give in and drink, but for now he sat in the darkness, a little hungry, very thirsty, and tried to come up with a way out.
Except he knew that there was no way out. He tipped his head back against the cool stone wall and shut his eyes against the darkness.
He was awakened by the door opening. The dim light from the lamp was blinding.
"Viggo Mortensen, eh?" It was the Weapons Master. "Feh. So you aren't quite the complete barbarian you led us to believe. Though this place reeks of your filth. On your feet, Outlander. Time to meet your new master."
Viggo could have laughed in relief. If the Weapons Master were sounding that cheerful, something good had happened. The man entered the room, kicking over the cup of water by the door. He looked at Viggo hard, with an expression of sympathy and understanding in his eyes that made him think of the morning the old swordsman had told him about Sean's "death."
"The steward said you hadn't eaten, the son of a dog. But he didn't say you hadn't drunk." He held out his hand, which Viggo took gratefully. "Let's get you to the barracks and get some food and water into you. Then you'll need a bath. I assume you will insist on wearing your ridiculous…" The old man waved vaguely at Viggo's legs.
Viggo laughed weakly and nodded.
"I have a new master, then?" he asked.
Then he realized something.
He looked at his teacher.
"How did you know my name?!"
They left Viggo alone in a modest chamber on an upper floor of the Emperor's residence. He was clean and dressed in leather and linen, as he always was, these days. He felt almost naked without his weapons, which he had been allowed to bring all the way to the door of the room, but then required to surrender before the Emperor met with him. Interesting.
Apparently the Emperor wanted to meet with him privately, with no bodyguard. No advisors.
Even more interesting.
The door opened behind him and he turned quickly. No one had told him how he should greet the Emperor. Should he bow? Or salute? Or what?
In the end it didn't matter.
Peter Jackson stood in the doorway.
After the experience of the last two days, it was just too much.
He caught the edge of the windowsill behind him, then sat down heavily on the prop it offered.
"Pete?" he finally managed.
The Emperor laughed at him. Good God! He was still wearing shorts and wandering around with no shoes. Just as unshaven and disreputable as he had ever been on the set.
Peter. Fucking. Jackson.
"You're looking very Jim Morrison, there, Mortensen," Pete said, coming towards him, laughing. Viggo was so shocked he could barely return the warm embrace of this apparition from another life. He found himself being held at arm's length and scrutinized closely.
"How long's it been, Viggo, since Wellington? Seems like a lifetime."
"Four years," Viggo breathed. "I came here four years ago. And you cannot seriously be telling me that you are the Emperor…"
Pete just laughed at him and gestured out the window.
"All mine to command!" He said with a laugh. "But I've been here much longer than you have. I'm coming up on 16 years very soon, I think." He said it as if a few extra years could explain how he had risen to the highest seat of power in this place. Classic PJ. Modesty and arrogance in one package.
But it also didn't make any sense.
"No, that can't be," Viggo replied. "I was working with you in Wellington four years ago."
Pete shook his head and shrugged, and went to sit in one of the arm chairs in the room. Viggo realized suddenly how 20th century Wellington this room felt. Upholstered furniture. Comfortable reclining arm chairs. It was surreal. Viggo thought he might have done the same, if he were Emperor in this place. Why not use your nearly infinite power to recreate the comforts of home? Viggo chose one of them for himself and sprawled in it, unable to stop staring at Pete.
"Who knows what's possible?" he replied. "Do you even know how you got here?"
"No," Viggo said. "I just found myself here. I can't even remember what I was doing in our world right before I arrived. I was just suddenly in the arena…"
Pete sat forward.
"When?! Not that first melee you were in?!"
Viggo nodded.
"I knew it was you! I saw you from my box, in the crowd, and I recognized all those tricks of Bob's that you used to do so well! I couldn’t believe it! But you were Sennet's slave, and I didn't see any reason to interfere with that. Especially because I have met others…"
"Like Sean," Viggo murmured.
"Exactly," Pete answered. "I hadn't recognized him 'til I saw him with you that day. But exactly like that. And all from Wellington. So strange. Both Ians, and John Rhys-Davies. Alan Lee, weirdly enough. But they weren't the same people…"
They sat quietly for a while.
"Actually," Pete said, breaking the thoughtful silence, "Your fighting style aside, I wouldn't have bothered with you at all if you hadn't suddenly become my slave. But I found out about Sennet, and I couldn't resist the temptation."
"Which brings me to another question," he said. His mood changed suddenly, and to his surprise, Viggo was now facing a new person – serious, maybe a little hostile.
"How did you manage it?"
"What?" Viggo asked, confused.
"You killed Sennet. You're MO is all over it. But my Assessor says you have been locked in his cellar for days."
Viggo shook his head.
"It wasn't me, Pete. He locked me in that room two – or three? – days ago. I can't say I'm sorry he's gone, but I had nothing to do with it."
Pete kicked a leg over the side of his chair and regarded him with a considering look.
"You've been a lot of trouble for me, you realize?" Pete said. "I didn't just land on the throne 16 years ago, you know. And you have spent the last, what, more than a year now creating havoc in the upper echelons of power in this city."
Viggo didn't see any point in denying it. Somehow Pete knew, and somehow that wasn't surprising.
"So if you knew it was me, why didn't you do anything about it?"
Pete shrugged.
"Because it was you." He said flatly. "And because you never seemed interested in anyone very important to me."
The silence that settled over them next wasn't quite as easy as the first. Viggo was thinking furiously. This was the Pete he had come to know in Wellington, and yet, he wasn't. Though to be fair, Viggo wasn't exactly the same person he'd been in Wellington, either.
"So where do we go from here?" Viggo asked carefully.
Pete shrugged.
"I go to my afternoon session of Court business. You go to the auction block tomorrow with the rest of Sennet's slaves."
The casual viciousness of the statement left Viggo speechless. Pete smiled at him coldly.
"Once you get settled in with your new master, you can continue your little murder-for-hire business if it suits you both. But I expect you to keep out of this house and away from my close advisors. Someone asks you to take jobs that will hurt people close to me, you turn the jobs down."
"And of course, I expect you to accept imperial commands."
Viggo just stared at him. The pleasant surprise of connecting back to Wellington being quickly replaced by the old, bitter anger at how easily he had been made a thing in this place.
"So you send me away from here to be sold at auction, and expect me to offer you respect and deference in the future?"
The Emperor's reply was just as cold.
"I have just offered you a reprieve for approximately 23 killings in the past year. One of which was nothing but a murder of revenge against one of Sean's lovers. You should bow down and kiss your Emperor's feet for not having you drawn and quartered to the shrieks of the crowd tomorrow."
Viggo's heart stopped in his chest.
Then Pete stood with a broad smile.
"Come on, Vig! I have to get downstairs or my people get irritable." He held out his hand, and Viggo shook it automatically. "Tomorrow will be fine. Give my best to Sean, the next time you see him. And if you ever meet anybody else really from Wellington, be sure to let me know."
Then Pete was gone, and Viggo was left starting at the bizarre faux La-Z-Boy loungers and wondering just how close Pete ever had been to sending him back to the arena.
Viggo stood at behind the large platform with the rest of Sennet's slaves. The auction had been organized quickly, but it had drawn a lot of attention. Sennet really did have one of the best barracks in the city. They were starting with the most recent acquisitions first, saving the most experienced fighters for later and himself and the Weapons Master for last. He expected it to be a long wait.
But as the auction got underway and the first two or three warriors were sold, a murmur started in the crowd out front. The Weapons Master finally kicked the warrior in front of him, who passed the word up that the old man wanted to know what was going on.
The whispers finally made their way back.
"Some woman's topping every bid!" he muttered.
The Weapons Master groaned.
"Gods save us from women with money. Let's hope she's representing someone, and not here playing with her father's gold."
The afternoon went much more quickly than expected, as the woman continued to win every bid as if money were no object, and eventually the other bidders mostly stopped bothering.
But when it came to be Viggo's turn on the block, and the auctioneer turned to her for the first bid, she bowed her head demurely and turned to the man sitting beside her.
Sean made the first bid.
WIP. Something to read while you wait?
Author:
muck_a_luck, posting in brainofckPairing: SB/VM (other pairings in later chapters)
Rating: NC-17
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 interested, 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 Gladiator, which I have been informed did not steal FOTR's Oscar, as it won the Oscar the year prior. I still blame Russell Crowe, though. *glares*
Blame:
uisgich, for encouraging meThe Arena Homepage
Chapter 20: Homecoming, Part III
"He is not fit to be seen by anyone," the steward stepped in swiftly. "Certainly not to be presented to the Emperor. Do we have time to make him presentable?"
The Assessor looked around the small office where the steward had brought him so they could conduct business more privately.
"Fine," he said, apparently unperturbed. "If you could arrange for whatever needs to be done for the slave, then show me the house while we wait, I can report more to my master.
Viggo had no idea how long he had been in the room. It couldn't really have been that long. But absolute darkness and damp and chill were stretching time in strange ways, he was sure. They had brought him food twice, but he wouldn't eat it. The memory of Sean that morning before their last fight played before his eyes in the darkness. He knew eventually he would have to give in and drink, but for now he sat in the darkness, a little hungry, very thirsty, and tried to come up with a way out.
Except he knew that there was no way out. He tipped his head back against the cool stone wall and shut his eyes against the darkness.
He was awakened by the door opening. The dim light from the lamp was blinding.
"Viggo Mortensen, eh?" It was the Weapons Master. "Feh. So you aren't quite the complete barbarian you led us to believe. Though this place reeks of your filth. On your feet, Outlander. Time to meet your new master."
Viggo could have laughed in relief. If the Weapons Master were sounding that cheerful, something good had happened. The man entered the room, kicking over the cup of water by the door. He looked at Viggo hard, with an expression of sympathy and understanding in his eyes that made him think of the morning the old swordsman had told him about Sean's "death."
"The steward said you hadn't eaten, the son of a dog. But he didn't say you hadn't drunk." He held out his hand, which Viggo took gratefully. "Let's get you to the barracks and get some food and water into you. Then you'll need a bath. I assume you will insist on wearing your ridiculous…" The old man waved vaguely at Viggo's legs.
Viggo laughed weakly and nodded.
"I have a new master, then?" he asked.
Then he realized something.
He looked at his teacher.
"How did you know my name?!"
They left Viggo alone in a modest chamber on an upper floor of the Emperor's residence. He was clean and dressed in leather and linen, as he always was, these days. He felt almost naked without his weapons, which he had been allowed to bring all the way to the door of the room, but then required to surrender before the Emperor met with him. Interesting.
Apparently the Emperor wanted to meet with him privately, with no bodyguard. No advisors.
Even more interesting.
The door opened behind him and he turned quickly. No one had told him how he should greet the Emperor. Should he bow? Or salute? Or what?
In the end it didn't matter.
Peter Jackson stood in the doorway.
After the experience of the last two days, it was just too much.
He caught the edge of the windowsill behind him, then sat down heavily on the prop it offered.
"Pete?" he finally managed.
The Emperor laughed at him. Good God! He was still wearing shorts and wandering around with no shoes. Just as unshaven and disreputable as he had ever been on the set.
Peter. Fucking. Jackson.
"You're looking very Jim Morrison, there, Mortensen," Pete said, coming towards him, laughing. Viggo was so shocked he could barely return the warm embrace of this apparition from another life. He found himself being held at arm's length and scrutinized closely.
"How long's it been, Viggo, since Wellington? Seems like a lifetime."
"Four years," Viggo breathed. "I came here four years ago. And you cannot seriously be telling me that you are the Emperor…"
Pete just laughed at him and gestured out the window.
"All mine to command!" He said with a laugh. "But I've been here much longer than you have. I'm coming up on 16 years very soon, I think." He said it as if a few extra years could explain how he had risen to the highest seat of power in this place. Classic PJ. Modesty and arrogance in one package.
But it also didn't make any sense.
"No, that can't be," Viggo replied. "I was working with you in Wellington four years ago."
Pete shook his head and shrugged, and went to sit in one of the arm chairs in the room. Viggo realized suddenly how 20th century Wellington this room felt. Upholstered furniture. Comfortable reclining arm chairs. It was surreal. Viggo thought he might have done the same, if he were Emperor in this place. Why not use your nearly infinite power to recreate the comforts of home? Viggo chose one of them for himself and sprawled in it, unable to stop staring at Pete.
"Who knows what's possible?" he replied. "Do you even know how you got here?"
"No," Viggo said. "I just found myself here. I can't even remember what I was doing in our world right before I arrived. I was just suddenly in the arena…"
Pete sat forward.
"When?! Not that first melee you were in?!"
Viggo nodded.
"I knew it was you! I saw you from my box, in the crowd, and I recognized all those tricks of Bob's that you used to do so well! I couldn’t believe it! But you were Sennet's slave, and I didn't see any reason to interfere with that. Especially because I have met others…"
"Like Sean," Viggo murmured.
"Exactly," Pete answered. "I hadn't recognized him 'til I saw him with you that day. But exactly like that. And all from Wellington. So strange. Both Ians, and John Rhys-Davies. Alan Lee, weirdly enough. But they weren't the same people…"
They sat quietly for a while.
"Actually," Pete said, breaking the thoughtful silence, "Your fighting style aside, I wouldn't have bothered with you at all if you hadn't suddenly become my slave. But I found out about Sennet, and I couldn't resist the temptation."
"Which brings me to another question," he said. His mood changed suddenly, and to his surprise, Viggo was now facing a new person – serious, maybe a little hostile.
"How did you manage it?"
"What?" Viggo asked, confused.
"You killed Sennet. You're MO is all over it. But my Assessor says you have been locked in his cellar for days."
Viggo shook his head.
"It wasn't me, Pete. He locked me in that room two – or three? – days ago. I can't say I'm sorry he's gone, but I had nothing to do with it."
Pete kicked a leg over the side of his chair and regarded him with a considering look.
"You've been a lot of trouble for me, you realize?" Pete said. "I didn't just land on the throne 16 years ago, you know. And you have spent the last, what, more than a year now creating havoc in the upper echelons of power in this city."
Viggo didn't see any point in denying it. Somehow Pete knew, and somehow that wasn't surprising.
"So if you knew it was me, why didn't you do anything about it?"
Pete shrugged.
"Because it was you." He said flatly. "And because you never seemed interested in anyone very important to me."
The silence that settled over them next wasn't quite as easy as the first. Viggo was thinking furiously. This was the Pete he had come to know in Wellington, and yet, he wasn't. Though to be fair, Viggo wasn't exactly the same person he'd been in Wellington, either.
"So where do we go from here?" Viggo asked carefully.
Pete shrugged.
"I go to my afternoon session of Court business. You go to the auction block tomorrow with the rest of Sennet's slaves."
The casual viciousness of the statement left Viggo speechless. Pete smiled at him coldly.
"Once you get settled in with your new master, you can continue your little murder-for-hire business if it suits you both. But I expect you to keep out of this house and away from my close advisors. Someone asks you to take jobs that will hurt people close to me, you turn the jobs down."
"And of course, I expect you to accept imperial commands."
Viggo just stared at him. The pleasant surprise of connecting back to Wellington being quickly replaced by the old, bitter anger at how easily he had been made a thing in this place.
"So you send me away from here to be sold at auction, and expect me to offer you respect and deference in the future?"
The Emperor's reply was just as cold.
"I have just offered you a reprieve for approximately 23 killings in the past year. One of which was nothing but a murder of revenge against one of Sean's lovers. You should bow down and kiss your Emperor's feet for not having you drawn and quartered to the shrieks of the crowd tomorrow."
Viggo's heart stopped in his chest.
Then Pete stood with a broad smile.
"Come on, Vig! I have to get downstairs or my people get irritable." He held out his hand, and Viggo shook it automatically. "Tomorrow will be fine. Give my best to Sean, the next time you see him. And if you ever meet anybody else really from Wellington, be sure to let me know."
Then Pete was gone, and Viggo was left starting at the bizarre faux La-Z-Boy loungers and wondering just how close Pete ever had been to sending him back to the arena.
Viggo stood at behind the large platform with the rest of Sennet's slaves. The auction had been organized quickly, but it had drawn a lot of attention. Sennet really did have one of the best barracks in the city. They were starting with the most recent acquisitions first, saving the most experienced fighters for later and himself and the Weapons Master for last. He expected it to be a long wait.
But as the auction got underway and the first two or three warriors were sold, a murmur started in the crowd out front. The Weapons Master finally kicked the warrior in front of him, who passed the word up that the old man wanted to know what was going on.
The whispers finally made their way back.
"Some woman's topping every bid!" he muttered.
The Weapons Master groaned.
"Gods save us from women with money. Let's hope she's representing someone, and not here playing with her father's gold."
The afternoon went much more quickly than expected, as the woman continued to win every bid as if money were no object, and eventually the other bidders mostly stopped bothering.
But when it came to be Viggo's turn on the block, and the auctioneer turned to her for the first bid, she bowed her head demurely and turned to the man sitting beside her.
Sean made the first bid.
WIP. Something to read while you wait?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Re: *offers your monitor a hanky*
Date: 2005-05-04 05:23 am (UTC)Re: *offers your monitor a hanky*
Date: 2005-05-04 11:21 am (UTC)Pete knows all. Plus, he's Emperor Pete now! Has his own agenda as well. Viggo's just some guy he knew for a couple of months 16 years ago...