Posted: May 2004
Title: Tale of Chibis
Author: Helena Snow-Renn
Type: RPS
Characters: Craig Parker/Viggo Mortensen
Rating: G
Disclaimer: As always, this is fiction. It never happened.
Timeline: Filming of LotR and TTT
Warnings: Slightly AU. Fluff. VERY rated G .
Summary: The modern fairy tale of an Elf named Craig.
Author's Notes: Bunny #1: Ever see the movie "Camp?" See it. You'll get it. All they need is a chorus of "For Want of a Nail" on the top of Helm's Deep.
Bunny #2: Puppet Show of TTT on www.jerrythefrogproductions.com

*****

Once upon a time on a little island kingdom called New Zealand there lived a good little elf named Craig. Only he wasn't so little, in fact…. We'll leave that part for a story with a higher rating. First things first.

There weren't too many elves left in the world, even in their country of origin, but they were all special. There was just something about them. Humans couldn't quite pinpoint it, and most of the blood was mixed now anyway, but these elves and part-elves seemed to forever be in the light of the sun and the moon wherever they were seen. So into the remote little land was born a new one, thirty-some years ago. A black-haired, cobalt-eyed, laughing, little sprite. We catch up to him as a young adult.

Craig had always been a good little elf boy until one day when he was about fifteen. At that age, he'd become lanky and gangly with unruly black hair. Quite by accident, he made a discovery, one that most of the other elf children did not think much of. He should not have said in his small-town, rather backwards culture, but unfortunately no one had ever discussed with him that certain boys might pound him if he liked them ‘like that.' In fact, poor Craig got used for target practice so many times his family had to move away to a different part of the island, to a large city where folks were somewhat more accepting, if not really understanding.

Much travail had Craig for the next 10 years. While most of the elflings around him finished their minorities in relative ease, our hero worked his way up slowly, taking low-paying jobs at odd hours so he could remain in his new home. It was not a place where rent was cheap. You see, after the first few months of culture shock, he wandered something he excelled at, for which he would work the graveyard shift and minimum wage to free up his days. This was acting. On a stage, in front of a camera, he didn't care; happiness came in the form of being anyone but himself. Like so many like him, it was a way to turn aside the scrutiny. Be so good at what you do, no one ever knows if it's you or if it's your character. And Craig was a born actor. People seemed to be drawn to him, to want him around (as long as he complied with the ‘don't ask, don't tell model). For that he credited his Elven heritage. It was never made much of in his family. It was just something that was just ‘there,' always with him. With a little encouragement, he honed his art and landed some good stepping-stone roles. After a few years, he was able to do what he'd dreamed and make his way on acting alone.

One fine day a call came in from his agent. Now our little elf got quite the surprise. He was to try out for what part? An elf. Imagine that. A chance to be…himself. A week later, Craig met the person who had hired him, a short, portly, unkempt man named Peter. Perhaps due to his own physical stature in a world that condescends his body type, Peter's company of elves came from the tallest, skinniest, prettiest, most androgynous stock he could round up. Ngila and her legions enhanced the total effect. Craig, though called ‘handsome' many times over, who identified most strongly with Elfkind in his many readings of their epic—so he told everyone--was not so sure he fit Peter's vision.

Then he saw himself in full costume. Transformed into an Elven version of an assault weapon, Craig came into the gracefulness and haughty proudness that was Haldir of Lorien. Marchwarden he was by day. Craig he remained by night, retaining enough of the smug-snooty purr when he chose to turn many a head. But Craig had always been careful of his affections, if nothing else. He did not give his heart or his body away cheaply.

As it turned out, young Craig had an admirer who was a bit more intense than the rest. Their first encounters took place on the borders of ‘his' land. In a retrospectively embarrassing display of character confusion, they argued in a flowing fictitious tongue upon a moonlit tree house. Backlighting set to turn everything shades of silvery blue, the man pleaded while the Elf stood stiff-backed and tall in the attitude of "No." Aside from this scene, though, the man said nothing about it in English, Sindarian, or Quenyan. He didn't have to; it was all in his eyes.

At first upon this realization, Craig felt drunk upon the power rush of it. The man was quite highly thought of on and off camera, for more than his looks. Craig compared his own ability and found it still wanting, and he vowed his next appearance would be the one in which he proved himself. They had plans for him that were going to make people angry. They even angered Craig, for his character's sake. Take the Elf from his natural environment, put him in a scene that clearly he was excluded from in the text, and then kill him. Something to make both the purists and the movie-verse fans alike scream, "Bad form, Peter Jackson!" He was going to make them. That decided , he had several serious conversations with himself in regards to one filthy human. He snickered and pretended to nance and do his nails along with the rest of his kind, and waited. In the time spent apart, for they were not together but the ‘apart' was noticeable, it slowly crept up on Craig how often he lost himself in thoughts of the man. ‘You're a silly git,' he told himself on the one hand. On the other, he was scared stiff to get too close to a costar. You just don't do that. Especially not with an interspecies one.

The vision he made as Two Towers Haldir stunned even the being who played him. In just weeks, something in his face had changed. It lit with an inner glow, just as an Eldar's would have been. Here was everything good about an Elf, the ancient wisdom and love, a warrior fierce and bright. He was not only skilled and elegant, but deadly as sin and just as beautiful in his shiny armor.

Helm's Deep. Cold and dark and exhausting, and long long long, so damn long that after the first two days with his nerves frazzled in anticipation, Craig forgot about his own personal dilemma and became one of the undead. Shooting all night and sleeping much of the day, everyone on that set became pale and vampiric.

Three weeks in, one night's agenda called for all the meager forces of good upon the walls. So Haldir stood, four paces to the side of Aragorn, too tired by three am to care anymore that the man stared at him constantly. In fact, he found it easier just to ignore it. The armor, the weapons, the flowing blond wig, not only transformed Craig into a thing of unparalleled magnificence, they gave him just enough distance he could hide his complicated feelings in plain sight. Underneath all his gear, he reasoned to himself, he was just Craig, little gay Elf Craig (ok, not so little) who had been kicked around for being born that way, and who now had a job to finish and a career to protect.

"Mae govannon," said the ragged, bedraggled man a few nights later. "You are most welcome." He practically leaped to embrace the unsuspecting Marchwarden, who, after his initial surprise, unthawed. Then he did it six more times before the director was satisfied. Glad it was nearly dawn, Craig walked way from the set shaking his head at himself, reduced to a slightly superior, armored puddle of mush. Halfway to wardrobe, his senses told him someone was behind him half a second before a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. "Mae govannon," said the voice he'd expected.

"What's Sindarin for ‘finally?'" was Craig's only question.

*****

THE END

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