Posted: September 2003
Title: Deconstructing Legolas
Author: Lemur
Type: RPS
Characters: Elijah/Orlando (sort of…you'll see)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Hi, I'm a fic. I'm completely fictional. The gal who created me is a big, fat liar and made up everything you're about to read. However, she would like me to point out that she did so with the highest respect and admiration for those featured or mentioned in me. Also, my creator does not know any of the people she wrote about and has no possessions to be won through what would undoubtedly be a senseless and fruitless lawsuit. Thank you.
A/N: I would love to dedicate this to the LotR boys, but considering the reputation RPS has (undeserved though it may be), that might be a bit creepy. In any case, this was inspired somewhat by the scene in the FotR Extended DVD where Legolas is wearing a different costume because they hadn't gotten the final one yet. For some reason, that kind of fascinated me.
Summary: In the first few weeks of filming and friendship, both Orlando and Elijah try to figure out this guy Legolas.

---

Orlando felt the disk of the contact finally slip into place with a faint sensation of suction. "There we go," said Eve, his make-up artist. "You'll get faster at it in no time." She rubbed his back comfortingly while the others gave a smattering of applause, like he'd just been through some ordeal far more dire than putting in costume contact lenses. "How do they feel?"

Orlando blinked repeatedly, the contacts feeling itchy and foreign on his eyes. "Fine. Good; they feel fine."

"They might sting a bit, but I'll make sure we have a steady supply of eye drops about."

"Great. Thanks." He wanted to sound more enthusiastic, but he wasn't quite past his discomfort; he'd thought wearing the ears was going to be the worst of it, but he realized now he was wrong. He rubbed around his eyes, trying to make them feel normal again. The contacts narrowed his vision to near pinpricks of sight and his feet looked blurry and far away.

"All right. You take a second to get comfortable with those. This is so exciting! You look wonderful."

"You really do." "Gorgeous." The others added their opinions after Eve and then Orlando heard the distinct sounds of them returning to their make-up tools and respective Elves.

"Okay," Orlando replied distractedly, then as an afterthought, "Thanks." He blinked, and blinked again – then blinked once more just for good measure. With every stroke of his eyelids, his vision cleared a bit more and the contacts became less painful, less uncomfortable – just enough to reassure him that, yes, he might be able to do this every day for the next year and a half. He rubbed his eyes and then looked up at the mirror.

"Holy shit."

His first thought was, Who the hell is that? Orlando looked at his reflection and fought off a shiver inching its way down his spine. He adjusted the wig on his head and the strands of blond hair tickled the part of his ears not covered by a prosthetic point. Newly blue eyes stared back at him. "Oh, man…"

The moment when he first saw Legolas had been bigger in his imagination. It had been full of awe, enthusiasm, and excitement and hobbits and dwarves and elves and Lord of the fuckin' Rings! but somehow, in reality, it was so small, and felt so insignificant that he was actually worried. He had expected the transformation to be simple and fluid: one moment Orlando, the next Legolas, but looking at himself now, even ignoring his t-shirt and jeans, he didn't look as "elven" as he'd hoped. He didn't look like he belonged to the race the script called "the wisest and fairest of all beings." In fact, he looked sort of…

"Weird." He leaned toward the mirror, widening the alien blue eyes. It was him, and yet not him, like someone had stolen his face.

He bared his teeth at his reflection, then gave an exaggerated frown. He stuck out his tongue and crossed his eyes. "So fucking weird." The artificial blond locks swept forward as he stood from the chair. He straightened his shoulders and took the stance he had decided would be Legolas's since he fell into it so naturally during archery practice.

Training his abbreviated sight on his reflection he recited, "Govannas vin gwennen le, Haldir o Lorien," then, grimaced, but not because he felt like making faces again. The words sounded wrong, *looked* wrong coming out of his mouth.

"Shit." He sighed in frustration and starting pacing – then stopped when he ran into his own chair.

"You all right?" Eve asked.

"Yeah, good as gold." Slightly embarrassed, Orlando righted the chair. "Just can't see through these things very well."

"That's the downside of the contacts. I think we're going to have a bunch of Elves tripping all over themselves on set. It's a good thing you're all pretty." She winked at him, or at least Orlando thought she did; it was hard to tell through the contacts. He smiled just in case.

Settling back down in the safety of the chair, he stared at himself and he was completely at a loss. He'd expected to feel something, like some tug at his heart or his stomach that would tell him that he had him, that he had Legolas, but the longer he stared, the more glaring it became that he just didn't.

He could feel Legolas edging frustratingly at his mind, but he didn't have him yet and he had no idea what else to do to get him. He'd already spent weeks learning archery, reading the script, studying the book. It'd been a great step forward when the archery lessons had begun in earnest; now Orlando knew he had something near the musculature that Legolas would have, the arms and build of an archer. He felt close, so very close to Legolas and yet he hadn't had that sensation, that click that told him he'd nailed it.

"Okay," he breathed, shaking the tension of his arms. If he just thought about it from every angle, he'd figure it out. He tried again to do the math: "Two thousand nine hundred thirty-one." According to Peter and Fran, Legolas was two thousand nine hundred thirty-one years old. For perspective, he subtracted: Two thousand nine hundred thirty years ago was nine hundred something B.C., so if Legolas had been born at that time and lived to today, he would have seen the rise and fall of the Roman Empire, the building of the Great Pyramids in Egypt, the birth of nearly every major world religion, both World Wars, not to mention the invention of gun powder, automobiles, motion pictures and pizza.

How the hell was he supposed to wrap his mind around that?

He scratched at the wig covering his head, his foot bouncing rapidly on the floor; he was mad at himself. He should have Legolas by now, he should just be Legolas by now, but there was something he hadn't done, some aspect of the character he hadn't figured out.

Eve returned to put the final touches on his ears and as she worked, he stared at his reflection, trying to see Legolas, but Eve finished and all he ever saw was Orlando in a silly wig.

***

Elijah stared at his reflection in the mirror. He had the feet, but his own spiky hair and small ears remained, not yet covered by Frodo's curls. He was at "Half-Hobbit," as he thought of it. The prosthetics glue was cold and wet on his feet and his legs protested to having to stand up so early in the morning, but at least he wasn't the only one. Sean stood nearby, sipping coffee and rubbing at his eyes; he was having a quiet, don't-talk-to-me morning. But Dom and Billy were already chatty. They sat waiting their turns and flipping through the script.

"Elevensies, then afternoon tea?" Billy asked.

Dom checked the script. "Yeah, but luncheon's in between."

"Shite. Why can't I remember that order?"

Elijah only half listened, or maybe only his Frodo-half was listening while the Elijah-half couldn't think past the knot in his stomach. Glancing around the make-up trailer, he saw a flutter of people doing their jobs, turning a group of humans into hobbits, all for a movie – a series – in which he was the main character, the star. He was the one the audience had to love for the movie to work; Peter had made that uncomfortably clear.

Elijah looked over at Sean, who let out a long yawn and teetered slightly on his newly applied hobbit feet, then to Dom and Billy.

"Come up with an acronym for it." Dom scratched out a few notes on the script with his pencil. "Elevenses, Luncheon, Afternoon tea, Dinner, Supper. E.L.A.D.S."

Billy thought a moment. "Elijah Likes…"

"Any…"

"Dumb Song."

"As long as it's by Smashing Pumpkins."

"Hey!" Elijah laughed, and Sean snickered sleepily into his coffee.

Billy nodded. "I can remember that. Thanks, ‘Lijah." Then, he and Dom went back to their studying.

Shaking his head, Elijah chuckled and tried to stay still so he wouldn't mess up his feet. He glanced down. He'd been the lead in dozens of productions before; he'd been doing this since he was a kid; but looking at the detailed craftsmanship on his own prosthetic feet, he understood that this wasn't going to be any "Flipper" or "Huck Finn." This was Lord of the fuckin' Rings and Frodo's name was in the script five hundred forty-four times – not that he'd counted.

Understandably, he was nervous and excited; more excited than nervous, but he was also a little scared. What if he couldn't do this? What if he had a nervous breakdown three months in? What if he let all these people down?

He loved these guys. They'd known each other for barely a month and already Elijah felt like Sean, Billy, Dom and Orlando were four of the best friends he'd ever had and so when it came to them, his nervousness became fear. More than anything, he didn't want to let *them* down.

Three movies: The number just kept looming before him. Three is a magical number, he thought bitterly; a scary-as-hell, magical number. Could he really do it? Did he have the talent and stamina to play Frodo Baggins for three whole movies at once? Was he really the best one for it? All the others fit into their roles with an almost unsettling perfection; even Viggo who'd been cast late simply exuded Aragorn. Elijah felt absolutely certain that the Fellowship could not be played by any other group of actors. But was he the only actor who could bring Frodo to life? He was terrified that the answer was no.

Smashing Pumpkins started up on the CD changer and Dom, Billy and Sean all let out loud, mock groans. "Sorry, guys" Elijah said, hoping he wouldn't have to say it again.

***
Ngila waited patiently while the prop man fastened the quiver around Orlando's shoulders, trying to stay out of the way of Eve who was busy slapping him in the face with powder. A flurry of people churned around Orlando, doing their last finishing touches before sending him out to the set for the first time. Excitement, anxiety, and fear circled his mind at much the same pace as the make-up artists, prop people and costume designers circled the rest of him.

"His boots look wonderful, Ngila." Eve glanced down admiringly as she applied a faint tint of rouge to Orlando's lips with her finger.

"Thank you. So does his face."

Eve laughed. "I don't think I can take any credit for that." She smiled at Orlando.

"Okay, let's see how this looks." Ngila stepped back, trying to get as good a look at him as she could in the makeshift dressing room they'd set up behind the Lorien set. "How's it feel?"

Orlando lifted his arms, careful not to hit Eve, and shifted around beneath the layers. "Pretty good." He mimed his aim with a bow and reached back to touch the arrows; the fabric cinched him more than the old t-shirts he'd been wearing to practice, but he could work with it. "It moves, which is great."

Ngila walked around him, her face serious, inspecting. "Well, have a look."

Orlando turned to the full-length mirror and let out a snort. "Sorry," he said, noting Ngila's disapproving look. "It's just…weird to see myself in this get-up. I look like Peter Pan." He tugged at the vest-like jerkin. "I don't think Legolas and I have the same style."

Ngila frowned. "I'm not convinced this is his style, so laugh as much as you want. We'll see how it looks on camera after tonight, but I think we need something different."

"The colors are good." The contrast between the blond of his wig and the green of the fabric immediately brought images of the sun and the forest to his mind. That had to be good.

"Right," Ngila agreed. "I think we're heading in the right direction with the colors, but it looks too cluttered." She pulled on the various layers and Orlando swayed slightly on his feet. "What do you think?"

As she continued to turn him, straightening out the fabric on his shoulders and flattening his collar, he felt somewhat like a large dress-up doll. "Well…" He hadn't expected to be asked – he was ecstatic to be asked, but he hadn't expected it. He studied his reflection in the mirror, trying to ignore how goofy he thought he looked. Legolas, mate, he told himself, you're Legolas. "Cluttered, right. It does look cluttered. I'd think he'd have – I don't know, like, a sort of cleaner look or something. He's the son of a king, right? so someone would make his clothes just for him probably."

"I was thinking the same." Ngila parted his mane of fake hair over his shoulders to rest against his chest, then walked round to stand in front of him.

"Maybe cover this up, put something of a sash across the shoulders?" Ngila's assistant stepped forward and joined her in tugging on Orlando's clothes.

"But all these layers and colors and bunches, they distract from his face." Ngila brushed a bit of fake hair from his eyes. "He looks so fantastic, I don't want to distract from that." Orlando thought to say ‘thank you,' but it hadn't really sounded like a compliment; she had said it like it was a statement of fact, which was actually sort of embarrassing.

"If you closed it more up here." The assistant pulled on Orlando's vest. "Used dark colors all through here; that would really bring out his skin tone."

"And that would give us all this room to really open up his shoulders, bring out these broad shoulders." Idly biting her thumbnail, Ngila circled him again. She looked stressed, but there was an energy to it; she was doing exactly what she loved to do. It just shone through her and Orlando couldn't help but smile.

"If we cut it a bit longer, extended it maybe down to here…" Ngila crouched at Orlando's knees, pulling on the jerkin. "But I don't want to cover his legs too much. He has these great legs and it elongates his figure so much to be able to see them."

"Right, right." The assistant nodded.

As they continued to circle him, rather vulture-like, Orlando stared at his reflection. This was the closest he'd yet been to seeing Legolas as the audience would see him: flaxen-haired woodland Elf – in his Peter Pan pajamas. But even ignoring the parts still wrong with the costume, he felt twitchy and nervous. In a matter of minutes – maybe seconds depending on how the lighting was coming along – he would have to go out on that set and play Legolas for the first time. This was it; Legolas's first moment, his first words.

Orlando swallowed thickly. He couldn't possibly be more nervous. It was enough that his first filmed line wasn't even in English and that he would have to say it in front of not just the hobbits but the nearly the entire Fellowship cast and a score of extras, he really didn't need the added stress of feeling out of sorts with his character.

Staring blankly at his reflection, he willed it to suddenly transform into Legolas for a moment, if only for an instant, just so he could have some reassurance that Legolas was even in there somewhere. If he could feel confident of that, then he could breathe easier – and focus on being terrified of humiliating himself in front of Viggo and Bean and the one hundred other people who'd be watching. But Legolas wasn't there; Orlando could sense it. He just wasn't there.

"I'll start another cut tonight." Ngila stood and looked into the mirror with Orlando. She let out a long sigh. "We haven't got him yet, do we?"

Unease curled in Orlando's stomach. "No, we don't."

"All right. Send me the Elves." Peter's shout carried over the high grey trees.

"Well, we don't have time to find him now." Ngila quickly but carefully swept his long hair back over his shoulders. "Go, go. Off with you." Trying to keep his arrows from falling out of his quiver, Orlando ran off toward the set.

***

Elijah huddled down in a corner with the rest of the Hobbits, trading jokes until everyone else was ready. Elves milled about them on the Lorien set, some clomping along in platform shoes to give them that extra bit of elven height, all wearing long, blond wigs. It was like they'd stumbled into the land of the towering surfer dudes.

"How about Frodo?" Fran and Phillippa sat just off the set, both looking over a laptop computer, doing another rewrite. "Let's give that line to Frodo," Phillippa suggested, and quickly typed it in.

That's right, Elijah thought, give the line to Frodo; it's not like the poor Hobbit doesn't already have a billion lines. He began biting his nails, trying not to listen to them as they reworked tomorrow's scene. More lines. Everyday he was getting more lines. Sometimes it felt like he was the only one who ever spoke in this movie.

"You okay?"

Elijah turned to see Sean looking at him. "Yeah, I'm just tired." Sean gave his shoulders a comforting squeeze and went back to trading barbs with Dom and Billy. Elijah silently cursed himself: it was pathetic of him to be complaining about having too many lines when most of the others would kill to get as much screen time with as many actors as he did. It was arrogant and selfish and bratty and all of those other words he'd heard attributed to prima donna actors. He didn't want to be one of those.

"Hey, ‘Lij," Dom said, leaning across Billy toward him. "You seen Orli in his Elf get-up yet?"

"No." Elijah faked a grinned even though the thought of Orlando in one of these surfer dude costumes was pretty hysterical. "How's he look?"

"He looks so cool."

"Amazing," Sean added. "The guy is such an Elf."

"Wait till you see him."

"Okay, give me my Hobbits. Where are you?" Peter's bare feet squeaked on the floor as he spun, looking for them.

"We're here!" Billy answered for them as they hopped to their giant feet. They were even more excited – and Elijah more nervous – than usual because this was a scene they'd been looking forward to: the first scene with the whole Fellowship together.

"All right," Peter hollered. "Send me the Elves."

To catcalls and whistles from the other hobbits, Orlando darted out from behind the set to take his place – and Elijah's jaw dropped. They hadn't been kidding: he looked fantastic. "Hey, who's the cute little She-Elf?" Elijah grinned as Orlando walked past them. "Oh, sorry, Orli. Didn't recognize you." Orlando tried to glare at him, but couldn't keep from laughing long enough for it to work. He walked to Peter and was shown his mark between Bean and Craig.

"He looks good, doesn't he?" Sean leaned back toward Elijah. "Lucky punk."

"He looks awesome." Elijah watched as Orlando took a quick, nervous breath before turning to joke with Bean like he didn't have a care in the world. Elijah had decided that was part of Orlando's charm: it wasn't that he didn't get scared, it was just that he preferred to pretend he wasn't until he wasn't.

Peter walked off the set toward the camera. It wouldn't be long now before the scene began and so Elijah took a moment to slip into Frodo's mindset. He was tired, scared, homesick, grieving, and in this moment, feeling alienated from all those around him because of the burden he carried. Well, Elijah thought, at least most of that won't be hard to play: I won't even have to fake it.

At Peter's call, the set went quiet except for the faint hum of the ventilation system. Elijah exhaled and tried to calm his nerves. Hearing the scene's first dialogue, he lifted his eyes to look to Craig, but someone else caught his eye.

Elijah barely recalled the camera in time to catch his expression from going slack in wonder. He didn't know what had changed, or what Orlando had done, but it was like he wasn't there anymore. Instead there was this person of strength and wisdom; there was an Elf. There was Legolas. And he stood proudly, confidently with the faint echoes of sorrow and grief all around him, as though he was keeping them at bay until he had time to deal with them properly.

Elijah was glad his particular role was silent at the moment because he wasn't sure the words would have come. He felt stunned, blind-sided. And when Orlando spoke – "Govannas vin gwennen le, Haldir o Lorien" – Elijah wondered how he had learned to do that with his voice. It was liquid and warm and with just one sentence, the meaning of which Elijah had forgotten to look up, it felt like it slid all the way through him. Elijah tried to keep his mind in the moment, in Frodo's moment and think about Gandalf and the Ring and the Shire, but he couldn't. His eyes and his mind remained locked on Orlando, even as they should have shifted to Viggo when he spoke and then to John when his line came. The bright eyes, the blond hair, untamed and specked with dirt from the journey through Moria they hadn't filmed yet…he was captivating, stunning, indefinably alluring.

Elijah was almost relieved when John started cursing in the middle of his line of Dwarvish and Orlando began laughing with the rest of the cast; it broke the spell. He was just Orlando again, but still Elijah fought off an amazed shiver. "Shit," he breathed and he was certain his Frodo-half seconded the sentiment.

***

Orlando tightened the bandana around his head, careful to trap the pointed ears and long hair underneath before stepping into the breeze outside the tent. Elves might have fantastic senses of style, but Orlando found few things more annoying than hair blowing in his face.

The air outside the tent was brisk and windy, which they'd all been told ahead of time was common for New Zealand mornings this time of year. He'd come prepared with a warm coat because, along with the Elves sense of style was the irksome factor of not feeling cold; his new Legolas costume, even with its thicker, more covering layers, was still crap for keeping out the chill.

He veered out of the way of the crew laying the dolly track and wandered over to where Sean, Billy and Dom played cards. "Morning, Orli." Dom didn't even look up with his greeting and all three faces stayed intent, their eyes on the game.

"Morning. What are you playing?"

"We have no idea," Billy answered.

Sean braved the early morning sun to squint up at Orlando. "They're making it up as we go. Want us to deal you in?"

Dom shook his head. "We can't deal in a new player until the second left person gets the seven of hearts."

"And whistles," Billy added.

"Second left? My left or your left?" Sean looked back to the game.

"Bill's left," Dom answered, snickering.

Orlando watched the cards flit back and forth and waited until Billy slapped down the Jack of clubs and triumphantly shouted, "Elug!" before he moved on. "Enjoy your game, guys. I'm gonna take a wander." He walked away, leaving them sorting cards and laughing.

Near their location for the day was a wide expanse of trees and Orlando quickly chose that as his destination. He wanted to walk beneath the leaves and see if he could find Legolas in there somewhere.

The costume was spot-on now; the clean, tailored lines and gentle colors were undoubtedly Legolas, the precise sort of clothing he would choose for himself, and Orlando had grown accustomed to the blue eyes and blond hair. The glue left on his ears after the points were removed was still an irritant, but the pointed ears themselves were just another part of Legolas. And yet, for some reason, when he looked in the mirror, he still saw himself dressed up as Legolas. He never saw Legolas alone.

But he had hope that he soon would if he could just find the right angle, the precise turn of thinking that was Legolas's. He was eager to get into the woods and begin, but as he walked from the set, he intercepted Elijah walking toward the other hobbits. His eyes stayed trained on a sheet of paper gripped tightly in his hands and he looked tired and frustrated. "Morning, ‘Lijah."

"Oh, hey, Orli. What's up?"

Orlando took the paper from Elijah. "More rewrites?"

"Yeah, they just kinda wanted to switch the focus of the scene or whatever, give Frodo more lines."

Orlando glanced up in time to see Elijah rub a tense hand across his forehead. He wanted to just hand the rewrite back and send Elijah on his way so that he could get into the forest and find Legolas, but Elijah looked so stressed, so serious that Orlando's conscience wouldn't let him do it. "Come with me. I was just about to take a walk in the woods."

"Nah, man, thanks. I've gotta look over this thing."

"It's one page, Elijah. You can look over it while you walk." He grabbed Elijah by the arm and pulled him into the shadow of the trees.

A selfish part of Orlando was glad that Elijah had taken him at his word and was quietly reading as they walked; in the silence, he could pretend he was alone and try to get in touch with Legolas. And besides, this wasn't a forest for voices, which Orlando decided was a promisingly Legolas-esque thought to have.

Dew still hung on the trees, glistening in the sparse catches of early morning sunlight and Orlando's heart skipped a beat: Nature would always be the coolest thing in the world. The wind whistled once more and while the leaves dropped dew atop his head, deeper into the forest, the droplets fell to the earth like pale snow.

"Oh, wow," Elijah said, voicing Orlando's thoughts. "If this movie bombs, this right here is what I'm telling people if they ask why I did it: getting to see shit like this every single day."

"I'll be backing you up, mate." Orlando inhaled the wet scent of the forest. This was a Legolas moment; he could feel it. Nothing but the trees, the dew, and the wind. This was a moment Legolas would love and maybe if he followed it long enough…

Orlando stepped to one tree and slid his hands over the bark. "Bill warned me you were a tree-hugger." Elijah laughed.

"I'm trying to get in touch with my Inner-Elf, man." Orlando tried not to feel annoyed with the distraction when he felt so close to Legolas. "Legolas grew up in places like this."

"I thought Mirkwood had huge-ass spiders and all that." Elijah walked over to lean casually against the tree.

"It did, but it had trees too."

"Ugly trees."

"Watch it."

"If you wanna kick my ass over a bunch of fictional trees, you are way too into character."

"Not really a problem." Orlando gently set his ear against the bark, careful not to damage the gelatin point beneath the bandana.

Elijah's eyebrows furrowed. "What d'you mean?"

"Nothing; I just haven't quite got Legolas figured out yet."

"Could have fooled me."

Orlando couldn't help but appreciate how sincere Elijah had sounded. "I understand him and all, but he's not me, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," Elijah said; Orlando was once again reminded why he loved hanging out with other actors. "But you're, uh, doing a…pretty good job, really."

"I just don't know enough yet, is all. I'll get it…" Orlando turned his face, his nose barely touching the tree. "…when I know what he knows." He breathed in deeply, savoring the scent of the damp bark – until a chip of wood flew right down his windpipe. Coughing convulsively, he stumbled back from the tree while Elijah broke out laughing.

"First clue," Elijah said. "He probably knows not to inhale tree bark!"

Orlando coughed roughly, his eyes filling with water. "Shut it," he croaked, but that only made Elijah laugh harder. Orlando wiped at his eyes, unable to keep from laughing himself as Elijah doubled over in hysterics. "It's not that funny, you fucking hobbit."

Elijah nodded weakly. "Yes, it is, dude," he said between breaths. "Funniest damn thing I've ever seen."

Orlando coughed once more, a hand across stomach. "You've lived a very small life."

"Orli! ‘Lijah!" Voices hollered in unison from the set.

Orlando grabbed Elijah by the hobbit collar and tugged him along. "C'mon, we have to work now. Be a professional."

Tears slid down Elijah's cheeks and he held his stomach. "Oh, god, that was so funny. I have to tell Billy and Dom."

Orlando laughed; Elijah looked absolutely ridiculous, his face red from laughing, his hobbit feet covered in blue bags. "Come on now, focus. Important scene: your best friend just died." For reasons Orlando was fairly sure he didn't want to analyze, that just made Elijah laugh harder. Shaking his head and smiling, Orlando threw his arm around Elijah's shoulders and escorted him back to the set.

***

Elijah milled around Rivendell, idly going over his lines. "Mordor, Gandalf," he recited to himself, "is it left or right?" Nearby Dom and Billy were having their feet retouched: for once, Elijah wasn't the only one with sweaty feet. Crewmembers worked steadily perfecting Hugo's hair, Ian's beard, Sean's ears, even the wigs on Viggo and Sean Bean's stand-in, so Elijah paced, waiting for shooting to begin and feeling strangely put together.

The grips readied the shot for the elvish adieu between Legolas and Arwen, which was the first scene to be shot in Elrond's big farewell. Elijah walked back and forth, his eyes on his own enlarged feet, waiting to hear the call for action. He wasn't in the scene they were about to film, but he had an interest in it. Even while his eyes stayed steadfastly on the ground, his thoughts were back with the group of actors all dolled up like Elves. He knew that, even though Orlando was currently goofing off with Liv, any moment now, Legolas would be there.

"All right." The assistant director clapped his hands together. "You guys ready?" Liv, and a few of the Elf extras behind her, nodded. His Elrond-robes held off the ground by two scrambling costumers, Hugo swept into place. Peter took over – and Elijah watched.

Out of camera range, Orlando gave Liv one last grin before he lowered his eyes and prepared. A chill slid through Elijah when those blue eyes lifted again. Orlando was gone; only Legolas remained.

Over several days of filming with the fellowship, Elijah developed something of an infatuation with Legolas. When he wasn't on camera, he would watch silently with everyone else, his eyes following that flash of blond hair. There was just something about him.

After two days of watching, Elijah had flipped through all three scripts to read the scenes he wouldn't be there to watch and every word fed his growing idolatry. He admired Legolas's strength and bravery, his wisdom and skill, his humor and intelligence; there was simply no part of Legolas he didn't adore outright. And naturally, he would have admired those traits in anyone, but Legolas didn't look like just anyone.

Elijah found himself dwelling more and more on the grace of Legolas's form, the elegant bend of his shoulders, the graceful point of his ears. It started out as mere appreciation of beauty, like he might feel toward a pretty painting, but the more of Legolas's scenes he watched and the more of his dialogue he read, the more Legolas became a complete person in his mind, a person with dreams, fears, hopes and tastes. Elijah's admiration grew and grew until he found himself thinking at great length about the delicate turn of Legolas's mouth and the pale column of his throat nearly hidden by the high collar of his tunic. The most disturbing day of all was when the hobbits had had to kneel for height continuity and all Elijah could think was, goddamn, that Elf has fantastic thighs.

Thankfully, no one seemed to notice what was rapidly becoming an addiction, this need to see Legolas whenever he could, and Elijah suspected it was largely because he didn't respond the same way to Orlando. Orlando was…Orlando. And while he was a great guy and one of Elijah's all-time favorite people, he wasn't Legolas – except when he was, of course. There was a subtle difference between the two that Elijah couldn't figure out. Legolas had something of an aged stoicism and reverie that dropped as soon as the cameras stopped rolling and left him as Orlando in costume. It was the weirdest acting-related phenomenon Elijah had ever seen.

He thought, at first, it was that Orlando seemed to smile and laugh all the time, which was something Legolas rarely did, but even when he saw Orlando in his more serious times – taking direction from Peter, thinking over his next scene – it wasn't the same. His face was serious, his blue eyes intent and yet, he didn't exactly look like Legolas, he didn't have the feel and presence of Legolas. Elijah felt certain he could look at two photographs of Orlando in costume and identify in which Orlando was portraying Legolas and in which he was simply dressed up as him; the differences were subtle, but Elijah knew them.

Legolas made him feel a way Orlando didn't. Orlando was a nut, a crazy, fun, wild, hilarious person who made Elijah feel happy and energized, but Legolas…Legolas was completely different.

When he saw Legolas, Elijah felt warm and at ease. Just a glimpse of those bright eyes and high cheekbones and he felt strangely soothed and comforted. He couldn't explain it and he wasn't sure he would want to hear the explanation if anyone else could, but he fed off that feeling, especially when everyday he was given more lines, more scenes, more chances to let down the cast, the crew and his friends. Seeing Legolas made it easier to get through each day and on those days when Legolas was filmed elsewhere, Elijah found himself longing to see him, nearly aching for that sensation of calm he brought with him.

And at the end of long nights after longer days during which nothing seemed to go right, he would imagine conversations, but only when his mind had descended halfway into sleep, when his worries about Legolas really being his friend in a costume and what it all meant about him could only whisper at the edge of thought. In those brief moments before his consciousness surrendered to his subconscious, he would imagine touching Legolas, feeling that smooth hair, kissing him, being held by him. In those brief moments, he would imagine all the things he could say to Legolas that he couldn't say to anyone else, and all the things Legolas would do, how he would look, what he would say and how, at the end of it all, Elijah would feel better.

He had hoped that seeing Legolas wearing a parka and a doo rag while inhaling tree bark would have loosened the hold, but always there was that protective split between Orlando and Legolas that allowed Legolas to maintain all his majesty and mystique no matter how goofy and spastic Orlando behaved on the set.

The allure might have been that Legolas was so physically beautiful and so aesthetically refined that he had something of the same appeal as an attractive woman while the simple fact that he was a man removed all the anxiety Elijah usually felt around the girls he liked. Or maybe it was that Legolas wasn't a man at all, but an Elf and therefore raised in a society where there were no gender struggles or strictures on masculinity that prevented him from expressing whatever he felt without any fear of appearing weak; Legolas could cry one moment and behead an Orc the next and both actions only showed his strength.

Whatever the reason, Elijah refused to examine it because if he did, that would be admitting that it was something deeper than random fancy. To give it a psychological or emotional reason was to give it a weight and importance he just didn't want it to have. Besides, he was perfectly comfortable with it. He got his friend Orlando to hang out with and his secret little thrill in seeing Legolas whenever the cameras rolled; there was no need to look further and nothing left to explain.

Which was why, when Dom, Sean and Billy said they were going to watch a movie Elijah had seen twenty times, he wasn't remotely nervous when he invited Orlando over for some beers. "How ‘bout my place?" Orlando suggested. "You haven't seen it yet, have you?"

"No." And so it was to Orlando's house that Elijah drove as soon as his hobbit feet were removed.

***

Elijah wasn't sure why he'd suggested he and Orlando have a few drinks and make a quiet night of it after a tough work week, but he needed to know if any part of this weird attachment – any part at all – was Orlando. He found the idea of being attracted to Orlando in general less disturbing than being attracted to the character he played specifically. Latent homosexual tendencies were one thing; lusting after a mythical being who didn't even exist was quite another.

So, strange as it felt even at the time, Elijah sort of hoped he'd feel uncomfortable being alone with Orlando if only to give his strange feelings a mundane explanation that didn't suggest he needed psychiatric care.

But it wasn't to be.

After a brief and energetic – Orlando *really* loved his house – tour, they settled on one of the many sundecks, though considering the hour, it was more accurately a moondeck. They chatted idly, lulled into passivity by the gentle wind.

While he stared out into the darkness, Orlando thought about Legolas and how a night like this might appeal to him, what he would admire about it and what it would make him feel. While Elijah stared out into the darkness, he thought about Legolas and how he really, really wished he found Orlando even remotely attractive.

Sighing, Elijah retrieved a rumpled package of cigarettes from his pocket. "You want a smoke?"

Orlando eyed them warily before sighing and grabbing one. "I'm trying to quit, you know."

"Ssshhhh." Elijah protectively covered the package. "They'll hear you." Extending his lighter to Orlando, he watched the flickering light illuminate those enviably high cheekbones. Nice, he thought, but not Legolas-nice.

"I want them to hear me, damn addictive fuckers."

Orlando took a drag and Elijah watched the smoke stream from his parted lips. Yes, Orlando definitely had a pretty mouth for a man, but Elijah thought it looked better speaking Elvish in that liquid voice of Legolas's.

"I quit for almost six months a while back, but it didn't stick." Orlando let the smoke waft around his head, hoping the scent would ward off whatever insect he heard buzzing near his ear.

Elijah shrugged. "I've never even tried. I figure everyone has to have their bad habits, right?"

"Good point." Orlando picked a bit of filter paper off his tongue. "Maybe I'd have an easier time giving it up if I picked up a new bad habit in its place. Sex addiction taking it too far, you think?"

"It'd be the only thing that'd get me to quit."

"Shit!" Orlando clamped his hand against the back of his neck, but already he heard the bug happily buzzing along its merry way.

"What?"

"I hate those things! I just got bitten by a fucking Kiwi Jurassic fucking bug."

"Is that their scientific name?"

"Yeah, Bugus Fuckingus." Orlando stepped back from the railing. "Is it okay if I switch off the light?"

Elijah made a vaguely affirmative sound as he watched Orlando walk toward the light switch. Orlando's legs were…legs, and while he could believe they were nice ones, Elijah's first thought was that they definitely weren't as nice as Legolas's. "Damn it."

The light went out. "What? You get bitten too?" Orlando carefully walked his way back to Elijah, using the glowing embers of his cigarette as a homing beacon in the darkness.

"Oh, uh, no. It's…just dark."

"It's night."

"Oh, yeah."

"So not just a coincidence then." Orlando smiled in Elijah's general direction. "But don't worry, mate. If you're scared of the dark, I'm right here."

"If I have a nightmare, you'll rock me back to sleep?" Elijah joked, the red of his cigarette growing brighter as he inhaled. He let go of the comparisons and resigned to enjoy Orlando's company, sans easily explained sexual tension. He was comfortable around Orlando, it was hard not to be, and that was a good thing, he told himself. He exhaled the smoke, watching it cloud dimly in the night air.

"You know it." Orlando looked distastefully down at the cigarette in his hand and was vaguely reminded of a scene from the book. He recalled the image of Legolas sitting with Aragorn and Gimli and two of the hobbits, Merry and Pippin, if he remembered correctly. The others delayed catching up with one another until they'd finished smoking and Legolas had actually gotten impatient with them. So, Legolas wasn't a fan of smoking; that wasn't hard to imagine.

"Why couldn't you?" Elijah asked suddenly.

"Why could I what?"

"Rock me back to sleep."

"You weren't asleep, for starters, but hey, if you need some hugging…" Orlando threw his arm around Elijah's shoulders only to be shrugged off with a laugh.

"Fuck off. That's not what I meant. I meant, like, in society. Sean and I were talking about this the other day because Ian went into this whole thing about how Sam should hold Frodo's hand and that never would have occurred to us to do, you know? If I were really sick in the hospital, I don't know if Sean would come in and hold my hand."

"You blokes are pretty close; he might, you know. If you were sick enough."

"So I'd have to be dying? That's shit, man." Elijah turned toward Orlando, leaning one arm on the railing.

"You been thinking about this a lot lately?"

"Not a lot, no." Elijah decided it wasn't exactly a lie. "It's like guys just don't do that sort of shit, you know? Like, if you were having a bad day, I don't think it would even occur to me to give you a hug, but that's what a girl would do and that might be all you need."

"Yeah, a free grope on you might not be what I'm looking for," Orlando teased, but Elijah ignored him; Orlando wondered if Elijah had even heard him.

"I had this girlfriend for a while; well, she wasn't my girlfriend, she was a –"

"Friend who's a girl."

"Right, and she would give me comfort kisses."

"Comfort kisses?"

"Yeah. It was this totally cool invention of hers." Elijah's sneakers shuffled against the wood as he shifted. "If I had a bad day or I wasn't feeling well – well, no, not then; she wouldn't kiss me if I was contagious, but otherwise, she would just kiss me, you know? To make me feel better."

"Did it work?"

"Oh, yeah. She gave the perfect comfort kisses: cool enough to be platonic, but just hot enough to kind of make me forget what was bothering me, you know?"

"Are you asking me to kiss you?"

Elijah burst out laughing, startlingly loud in the still night. He was glad he'd ascertained that there was no sexual tension here and therefore no ulterior motive – that freed him up to comfortably make fun of Orlando. "God! Focus, Orli. You ever heard the song ‘You're So Vain?'"

"Oh, right." Orlando grinned. "Did I ever tell you that song was about me?"

"The funny thing about that song is that it *is* about him."

"Yeah, but I do get what you're saying. Sometimes you don't really want to talk about what's bothering you ‘cause it won't help anything, so yeah, I get how some kissing would be nice." Orlando stubbed out his cigarette on the railing and pocketed the butt. "You still know this ‘comfort kisses' chick?"

"Nah. We stopped hanging out. I told her I thought a ‘comfort shag' would be more helpful."

This time, Orlando burst out laughing. "You didn't seriously say that, did you?"

"No, but that's what she heard."

"I hope she at least gave you a ‘good-bye kiss.'"

"You know, she didn't." Elijah shook his head in mock disappointment.

"Well, she's clearly a bitch."

"Clearly." Elijah extended the pack of cigarettes to Orlando once more. "You want another?"

"God, no. Get ‘em away from me, you enabler. Are you trying to turn me into a chain smoker?"

"Yes; that's my master plan." Elijah stuffed the rumpled packet back into his pocket. "But hey, they're healthier than tree bark." The delivery would have been perfect had he been able to keep from snickering through the end of the sentence.

"Ha. Ha."

"That was so fuckin' hilarious." Elijah grasped the railing for support, immediately enveloped in hysterics again. He kept picturing Orlando stumbling back from the tree over and over again.

"Hey, it really hurt, man. My throat was sore the whole rest of the day."

"Was it really?"

"No, but I wanted you to feel bad. Did it work?"

Elijah nodded, still laughing far more than necessary and Orlando was reminded of a lesson from school: comedy is tragedy happening to someone else. "Yes," Elijah gasped. "I feel terrible. My heart is torn asunder."

"Asunder? Good word." Orlando stepped toward the porch door. "You want something to drink, you prick?"

"Sure, I could go for a beer." Elijah wiped at his watering eyes.

Orlando led the way back into the house and to the kitchen. "I picked up a whole bunch of local beers. Haven't tried any yet, but let's hope the Kiwis are better at it than you lot in the States."

"Hey, man, we've got the Champagne of Beers."

"Shit, that sounds lame." Orlando flipped on the kitchen light, making the room painfully bright after the dark sundeck, and opened the refrigerator. "Choose one; they're all up for the taking."

Elijah inspected the bottles and then chose the one that looked the most difficult to pronounce. "So, uh, how is that tree bark thing going for you?" he asked conversationally as he pried open the cap.

Orlando chose a beer and shut the fridge. "I haven't inhaled any more, if that's what you're asking."

"Are you feeling more in touch with Legolas?" Elijah didn't know why he'd asked, but he couldn't stop it. Worse, he vaguely reminded himself of his little sister when she would start "casual" conversations about whichever of Elijah's friends she had a crush on.

"Oh, that. Sorta, but not really." Orlando frowned slightly and opened his beer. "I've still got some ideas though, so I'm good." Technically, he only had two ideas left and they weren't very good ones. Legolas, for as much as Orlando genuinely like the guy, was rapidly becoming the irritatingly enigmatic thorn in his side.

"We could talk it out, if you think it would help."

Orlando shrugged. "I don't know what I'm doing wrong, so I wouldn't know what to talk about."

"I don't think you're doing anything wrong," Elijah defended quickly – too quickly, he thought.

"Really?"

Elijah wondered if his own eyes were so unnerving when someone tried to talk seriously with him because Orlando's eyes sure did look huge and brown right now. And the kitchen was far too bright for this conversation. "Let's go back out to the deck. It's cooler out there."

Once back in the concealing darkness, Orlando and Elijah settled in the chairs, staring out at the sky. "So what do you think you're doing wrong?" Elijah asked.

"I don't think I'm doing anything wrong, really." The chair squeaked as Orlando shifted. "I mean, I watch the dailies and I think that's pretty much how I would play him, so I don't think I would change anything. It's just – I feel like I'm impersonating him, right?"

"Well, you kinda are. That's acting."

"Yeah. Yeah, it is, you're right." Orlando nodded. He felt only a lingering discomfort to be discussing this with Elijah Wood who'd almost been in more movies than Orlando had watched, but he tried to ignore it. "Only, with the other guys I've played, there's been this moment when I sort of become them or whatever and it makes playing them loads easier because then I can just switch it on and off."

"No, I totally get what you mean. It's like that flashpoint or click or whatever where, for, like, just a split second, you're not you. I love that."

"Exactly. Exactly, mate. That's it exactly."

Elijah had had his Frodo click the first time he'd gotten all the hobbit gear on; he'd looked in the mirror and for a moment, he didn't recognize himself. He could imagine how frustrating it must be for Orlando to get dolled up every day and never really gel with the character. Then again, considering how he did with Legolas, Elijah was curious as to just how much like a character Orlando could be when he did have that click.

Elijah took a long swig of his beer and tried not to notice how silent Orlando had become. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen Orlando look so discouraged; it didn't suit him and Elijah didn't like it at all. "All right," he said with a sigh. "Are we gonna talk about character? Let's talk about character. And when we talk about character, let's remember that we're talking about character and not each other, okay?"

"Okay," Orlando replied uncertainly.

"Legolas is seriously hot – and I mean that in a totally heterosexual way."

Orlando laughed, but fortunately, he just sounded surprised. "Sorry, mate; I wasn't expecting you to say that. I thought you were getting ready to tell me I'm the worst Elf ever."

"Dude, no way. You're really good. Legolas is amazing." Elijah swallowed, glad he had taken the distractingly bold approach; it was keeping the conversation light and unrevealing. "I mean, you're okay and all, but Legolas…he's hot. I'd totally do him."

"In a heterosexual way?"

"Yeah, that sounded a bit less hetero, didn't it?"

"A bit." Orlando laughed again.

"Sorry. Am I freaking you out?"

"No, not at all. I think that's awesome. I've been thinking he'd be sort of – well, not sexless, but sort of unconcerned with gender, you know?" Orlando shifted excitedly in his seat, turning to face Elijah. He was thrilled, there wasn't another word for it, and he was even more delighted that Elijah's confession hadn't been flattering because that meant he'd instinctively felt like it wasn't for him, it was for Legolas. "Like gender doesn't matter to him because people are people."

"And he's totally not judgmental." Orlando's eagerness released a floodgate in Elijah's mind: he could feel all the thoughts he'd had about Legolas over the past few days straining to rush out of him in a torrent.

"Right; absolutely. He doesn't think less of a person because they can't…shoot a bow or whatever."

"And, like, if you dropped trou, he wouldn't be comparing sizes."

Orlando nodded. "Exactly. I think he's completely confident unto himself, so he wouldn't even think about it. And if someone's a better fighter than he is, he's okay with that."

"Because he knows it's not a competition; everyone has their strengths and their weaknesses."

"Right, exactly."

"Have you thought about how he'd be in bed?" Elijah's only saving grace was that he caught himself before he clamped his hand over his mouth in mortification.

"A little. Why? Have you?" Grinning, Orlando teasingly nudged his arm.

"Shut up. I'm not that far gone." Actually, yes, he was, but thankfully even the floodgates had sieves. "I asked because this extra on ‘Huck Finn' told me once that the best way to figure out a character is to figure out how he would kiss."

"Someone told you this during ‘Huck Finn'? Weren't you, like, eight?"

"Yeah. He was a creepy guy, but the advice was good. And I was sixteen before I figured out he told me because he wanted me to kiss him, so it didn't fuck with my head until I was old enough to deal with it."

"Shit. No way."

"Perils of being a child actor."

Orlando sometimes forgot that Elijah was younger than he was and more often than that, he forgot that Elijah had had a completely different childhood. He watched Elijah turn his beer in his hands and felt bad for him; to have had to deal with those sorts of pressures and stresses when most kids were worried about learning their mathematics…it was heartrending. "What'd you say to him?"

"I was totally oblivious. I think I said that Huck wouldn't kiss anyone because girls were gross or had cooties or whatever girls had back then, but I totally used it for the people I played when I got older and it's really good." He fished his cigarettes back out and set them on the small table between their chairs. "Like, some timid guys don't kiss timid, you know?"

"Yeah. I'll have to think about that; that's great. Thanks, ‘Lij."

"No problem." Elijah absently drew patterns in the condensation left by his beer bottle on the tabletop. He hadn't been entirely truthful: at sixteen he'd been more able to deal with it than he would have been at eight, but that didn't mean he'd dealt with it well. When he'd remembered the incident, he'd felt slimy and unsettled, like some of the guy had rubbed off on him even when he hadn't understood him at the time.

Elijah's fingertips cut through the water collecting on the table, leaving curling swirls in their wake. He had dealt with the whole incident now and the memory didn't bother him anymore; he truly did consider it to be just another peril of starting his career so young, but for some reason, right now, it bothered him for a new reason. It was the sort of anecdote that people told to show how strong they were, how they had come through bad times and met bad people, but emerged triumphant and better for the wear.

Elijah had triumphed. He had gotten through that moment and others even worse, so what he couldn't understand was, why wasn't he stronger? If he'd made it through the bad times, why was he so frightened and overwhelmed by these better times? Why was he still so weak?

"I just think Legolas is an amazing guy – or Elf, whatever," Elijah said softly, and he knew the conversational tone wasn't convincing, but he felt that longing again; he wanted that brief comfort and serenity he felt when he looked at Legolas. "He's good for Frodo."

"You mean to have an Elf along?"

"Yeah, kinda." The part of Elijah's mind controlled by reason was nearly shouting at him: Shut up, Elijah! Stop talking! But he didn't. "I wish they'd written a scene with just Legolas and Frodo, but then, that'd probably weaken the stuff with Galadriel, so I guess I can see why they didn't do that."

Orlando turned his eyes to Elijah, barely able to make out his profile in the darkness. He wore the same strained expression that Orlando had seen when he'd found him walking with the rewrites. There was something in this conversation Elijah was purposely not talking about, Orlando could sense it, and he tried to respond just vaguely enough to keep him talking. "He does have a different perspective than the rest of the fellowship."

"I think he's more understanding, maybe because he's so old. I mean Sam and Merry and Pippin are good for Frodo, too, but even they look to him sometimes, you know? I feel bad for the guy. That's what I think is so cool about Legolas. He let's people be weak and he doesn't judge them for it."

The night felt strangely close and silent and Orlando watched as Elijah continued to draw circles in the condensation, his knee bouncing in unconscious nervousness. Suddenly feeling exposed, Elijah drained his beer and fumbled with his lighter until his cigarette was lit. "Does that help at all?" he asked.

"Yeah, it helps a lot. Thanks," Orlando replied, trying to keep the concern from his voice. "Do you want to talk about Frodo?"

"No." Elijah shook his head with an exhale of smoke. "We're good."

***

Orlando shivered and pulled his covers closer around him, trying fashion himself a blanket cocoon. He'd left the door to the sundeck open to let a breeze in, but apparently New Zealand had gone sub-arctic during the night and so his bedroom was freezing – and since he was too lazy to get out of bed and close the door, he hugged his covers tighter. Finally, he had the throw them over his head entirely when he discovered that his Mohawk wasn't providing much warmth for his scalp.

Hidden beneath the warmth and darkness of his comforter, he sighed, reveling in a day to sleep in and not wear fake ears. But then he remembered the hobbits were filming today. And that made him think of Elijah.

It'd been almost three days since their talk on the sundeck and Orlando still felt uneasy about it. He'd talked to Sean who said he'd noticed Elijah got quiet from time to time, but otherwise didn't seem at all unusual to him. Billy and Dom hadn't noticed anything; they said Elijah was always the cool, collected pro. They all sounded so unconcerned that Orlando started to wonder if he'd simply read too much into the conversation in the first place. But there was something about the tone of Elijah's voice and then, there was just *something* in the way he'd talked about Legolas…

Huddled underneath the covers, he wasn't any closer to figuring it out and when the rain started, he gladly pushed it aside to deal with his other pressing worry. He leapt out of bed – letting out a shriek when his bare skin hit the icy air - and threw on a sweatshirt and jeans before putting into play one of his last ideas for getting in touch with Legolas: He walked down the stairs and out into the rain.

Finding a patch of grass that hadn't yet turned to mud, he sat down and closed his eyes.
This was the sort of moment Legolas would love, he told himself. He would do this, he would sit in the rain and just feel.

The rain pounded against the naked skin of Orlando's scalp and he considered running inside to grab a hat, but no: Legolas did not feel cold, he was not a victim of the elements and so Orlando would simply ignore it; he would block out that slowly radiating ache encompassing his head with every raindrop and *focus.*

As the last shred of dry denim turned a wet navy blue, Orlando focused – or at least he tried to. But it was hard when he was continuously shivering and he couldn't hear the patter of the rain over the chatter of his teeth. Focus, he commanded himself, focus.

What sort of Elf is Legolas? What sort of childhood did he have? Was he close with his parents? Was he good in school, or whatever Elves have? Was he artistic? Did he always like archery? How would he be in bed? And come to think of it, how *would* he kiss?

There at least was a question Orlando's mind felt it could tackle. How would a being devoid of malice, self-consciousness and uncertainty kiss? The first answer that came to Orlando's mind was: however the other person needed him to.

No fair, Orli, he chastised himself, no fair giving vague answers when you're supposed to be figuring this guy out. But answers weren't forthcoming because instead of musing on Legolas, the question took his mind back to Elijah. Orlando was almost positive he hadn't misread their conversation: Elijah was nervous; in fact, Orlando would even say he was scared. But then, if that were the case, what Orlando couldn't understand was why Elijah didn't talk to anyone about it.

Orlando considered himself blessed with great friends back home, but nothing compared to the friendship he had with the hobbits. If the films flopped and if he never became anything but that Elf in those awful "Lord of the Rings" movies, the whole thing had been worth it five minutes into the plane ride to New Zealand with Billy.

The first time he met Billy, they hugged. The first time Elijah met Sean, they hugged. Orlando had never had a group of friends who had all instinctively hugged one another the very first moment they'd met. They were *meant* to be friends, he felt that as strongly as he had ever felt anything.

Caught up in his thoughts, Orlando forgot about the driving rain and the chill rapidly spreading through his limbs. The hobbits weren't even his friends anymore; they were his brothers, and it literally pained him to think of Elijah feeling frightened and isolated when he had four guys who would gladly hear every worry and every fear without judgment.

But even as he sometimes felt like slapping Elijah for being such a dolt, he thought maybe he did understand why he wouldn't talk to them. Elijah was the youngest of the five, and incongruously, he was also the veteran. Elijah had been an actor since before the rest of them even knew the term, and if Orlando put himself in that mindset, he could immediately see why Elijah would be unwilling to tell them: he doesn't want to appear weak.

"Orli?"

"I'm out here."

Billy and Dom slid back the deck doors and stepped out into the rain. "What are you doing, you nutter?" Dom asked.

"Trying to kill myself in the slowest way possible." His concentration broken, Orlando suddenly felt all the elements: cold, rain and wet. "You guys out of shooting?"

Dom toed the mud as Billy answered. "We were cancelled this morning; ground's too wet."

"You want to get Elijah and Sean and go out?" Orlando shivered and wiped the rain from his eyes as he stood.

"No," Dom replied, kicking roughly at the mud. "Elijah's being a wanker."

"What's up?"

"I fucked up." Dom shrugged as they walked under the protective canopy of Orlando's porch. "He had a hard time with one of his scenes yesterday and I was razzing him."

"What'd you say?"

"I told him we needed to find another hobbit for the job. He told me to fuck off, and now he won't talk to me. Bastard." All of Dom's words lacked venom; he was clearly madder at himself than at Elijah.

Billy quirked a smile. "And I'm being persecuted for proximity."

Orlando walked into the house, holding his heavy, wet jeans at his waist to keep them from falling off. Dom and Billy followed. "I took it back," Dom said, "but he's being a wanker."

"No, he's not, mate. He's freaking out." Orlando stripped off his wet t-shirt and started up the stairs to his bedroom.

"You going to go see him then?" Billy asked.

"Yeah, but he won't want to talk to me either."

***

Elijah switched off his television, leaving Guybrush Threepwood bobbing on his toes and facing off against his monkey opponent. He had pulled it out to be a distraction and it wasn't; he definitely knew a game too well when he could defeat it without thinking. He leaned back against the couch and watched the clock tick past the minutes until it was nearly eleven.

He had wanted the hobbits and Orlando to show up at the door with some scheme for wasting time in Wellington and then, he and Dom could punch each other on the arm – or something equally manly – and forget that Elijah had been an ass; and getting through the whole thing without having to explain *why* he'd been as ass would be great, too; but he was still hurt; that sensation hadn't gone away as quickly as the anger.

Elijah grabbed a soda from his fridge and headed out to his back porch. It had stopped raining some hours ago and the night was cool and clear. Dom hadn't meant what he'd said, but Elijah still worried it was true. He breathed in the crisp air, not even caring that it was too cold for short sleeves; part of him felt he deserved a little suffering for acting like such a whiny prima donna.

The lamp from inside pooled on the worn, creaking wood of his porch, leaving the trees and plants around in darkness. High above, the moonless sky was full of stars. The whole cosmos seemed spread out above him and it was comforting to be reminded how insignificant he really was; how, in the eyes of time, this moment wasn't even a blink. He thought about the people all over the world who didn't have the things he had, who weren't standing on their porches in a beautiful country and doing a job they loved. All that and he had food, water, and clothing, too.

Now, he felt really lousy.

He was living a dream and he had the stupidity to be overwhelmed by it, and then, he was just idiot enough to tell off one of his best friends because of it. Elijah, man, he thought, you suck.

The leaves rustled to his left and it took Elijah a second to realize it wasn't the wind that moved them. The pooled light corrupted his night vision and he could make out only the shape of the figure walking towards the deck: Too tall to be any of the hobbits; too thin to be Viggo or Bean. "Orli? Is that you, man?"

Orlando entered the sphere of light, which first caught the golden hue of the wig upon his head. Elijah's breath hitched in his throat. Orlando wore the whole costume: the breeches, the tunic and jerkin, the ears; everything but the bow and quiver. To Elijah's eyes, Legolas was standing just off his porch, next to his Igloo cooler.

But it was just Orlando, Elijah reminded himself. He knew he'd revealed too much in that misguided conversation on the sundeck, but he hadn't thought Orlando would do this. His defensiveness quickly took over: he instantly felt angry. "What are you doing, you weirdo?"

Orlando smiled lightly, then his falsely blue eyes drifted up to the starry sky before they returned to earth and Elijah's face. "Admiring the night," he answered, in a voice that wasn't his.

Elijah glared even as the voice sent a ripple of warmth through him. "Did Dom and Billy send you over?" His tone came out sharp and he was glad: Orlando showing up here, dressed like this; it was insulting.

"I came because I wished to." Orlando was still using that soothing Legolas intonation and Elijah decided that was an unfair advantage. With that elven grace he'd developed, Orlando smoothly mounted the wooden stairs.

"Right. And why would you *wish* to?"

"I came because you are my friend."

"Whatever." Elijah looked away, taking a swig from his soda and consciously ignoring Orlando. Silently, Orlando walked further onto the porch, his finely-crafted leather boots looking alien next to the flaking paint. He paused at the railing, seeming to continue his admiration of the night.

Elijah dug his cigarettes out of his pocket. If ever there was a time for a cigarette, watching his friend stand on his porch and pretend to be a fictional Elf was the time. He smoked slowly, waiting for the façade to fall, waiting for Orlando to turn to him and say, "For fuck's sake, ‘Lij; I can't stand here all night. If I don't have this costume back soon Ngila'll kill me." He was certain it was only a matter of time.

They stood in silence for nearly ten minutes, but Orlando didn't drop the act and never even shifted his feet or moved his arms in a way that wasn't like Legolas. Elijah finished one cigarette and started another. Chain smoking sounded like a good idea right now because Orlando looked so perfectly Legolas; his shoulders square, his back straight, his stance tall; and it was unnerving to watch him, all golds and greens in the lamplight. He wished he could just forget about the Mohawk underneath the blond locks and the dark eyes behind the vibrant blue because the chance of speaking to Legolas was a seductive one; to be able to talk to someone devoid of judgment, ready to listen.

But it was just Orlando. And for all Elijah knew, this was part of an acting exercise, a last desperate attempt to get a hold on his character. Elijah sighed, all his anger dissipating in his own wretchedness; he still felt small, lonely and trivial; and whatever Orlando was trying to do – good or bad – wasn't going to change that. Elijah walked over to him and leaned against the railing. He held out the package of cigarettes. "You want one, man?"

Orlando glanced down, then back to Elijah. "No, thank you," he said politely. "I have never seen the appeal."

Damn, Elijah thought, he's good. He eyed him a moment longer, his gaze roaming over that inscrutable profile. "Why are you doing this?"

Orlando turned to him and Elijah's heart rattled; he knew it was Orlando under that costume, he *knew* it, but he'd be damned if he could see him. Elijah fumbled to light another cigarette.

"I understand your hesitation," Orlando said, his voice low and smooth, "but I promise you, I am here solely because you are my friend and I am yours."

A part of Elijah still screamed that this whole thing was weird at best and a humiliation at worst, but still, he believed. He believed that Orlando was a genuinely kind person who wouldn't do something so malicious or self-serving as come here simply to mock him. It wasn't in his character.

And he also believed – he felt – that it wasn't Orlando to whom he was speaking. It was Legolas. It was Legolas standing on his porch and it was Legolas wanting, waiting to hear him speak – not prodding, not even looking at him expectantly – just waiting as if it didn't matter if Elijah spoke or not.

"I don't know what you want me to say." Elijah's voice sounded small and childish, even to his own ears. Legolas simply continued to gaze at him, the corners of his mouth turned up in the barest of encouraging smiles. "I mean, it's nice that you're here and all; I appreciate it; but it won't help anything. Even if I talk to you, it won't go away."

Legolas's eyes lowered and his expression slowly fell as he drifted into thought. Elijah dragged a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, I really am," he continued. "I mean, this is great of you. It's really nice, but…you know. No matter what we talk about, the movie'll still be huge, I'll still be Frodo and I'll still be in the script five hundred forty-four times – not that I've counted – and maybe more with the way they keep revising anyway. It's just – talking doesn't really help anything."

Legolas watched closely as Elijah exhaled the cigarette smoke in a ragged, nervous breath. "Perhaps you are right." He reached up and gently plucked the cigarette from Elijah's lips as he stepped forward, pressing Elijah's hips against his. Legolas stubbed the cigarette out against the railing and set it down before returning his full attention to Elijah, stroking his hands through his hair. Elijah swallowed, his mouth dry. Legolas looked down at him through narrowed eyes and he seemed so tall, so confident and in control that Elijah nearly gave in. He knew what was going to happen, he knew what Legolas was going to try and when he felt the hand come to rest on his waist, Elijah knew it was going too far. Role-playing was safe territory, but this – this was something two friends just couldn't do.

He stepped back, pulling himself from the loose embrace. "Look, man, I really don't –" he said, but stopped short when Legolas caught him by the wrist. Elijah forced himself to look up into those startlingly bright eyes. They were warm and welcoming; Elijah didn't see a trace of embarrassment or even of uncertainty, and all he could think about was those nights when he'd imagined Legolas's voice and his face, daring to let himself fantasize about being alone with him. Here he was now, alone with Legolas, and he felt like he shouldn't be, like it was weak to have wanted it in the first place.

"Look," he began again, but it was barely a whisper as Legolas stepped near once more, insinuating himself into Elijah's arms. The warmth coming off of him was just as Elijah had imagined it would be.

Legolas cupped his neck, gently stroking the skin with his thumbs, and when he spoke, his voice was so soft, Elijah barely heard him. "Just be weak," he said. Elijah's shoulders fell, the tension in the muscles leaving him as the words reached his ear. He held Legolas's gaze. Smooth fingers feathered against his face, sliding lightly through his hair and Elijah felt for all the world like he was being adored. His eyes slid shut of their own accord and when Legolas whispered again – "Just be weak" – Elijah only felt it in breath against his mouth. Then, he felt Legolas's lips on his.

It was a gentle kiss, but certainly not a timid one; Elijah's lips parted from the first moment and Legolas's tongue slipped readily inside. A soft moan curled in his throat and Elijah slipped his arms around Legolas's waist, pulling him closer, feeling those archer's muscles hard beneath his hands.

Legolas lightly sucked Elijah's bottom lip between his, and a pleasant warmth swirled through Elijah, settling nowhere, but drifting through every part of his body. Legolas's lips were warm and he tasted sweet, like honey or sugar. Elijah curled his tongue around Legolas's wanting to identify the candied flavor and Legolas gasped softly between their mouths. Elijah renewed his hold around the slender waist just as Legolas's own arms dropped to his shoulders, tugging him ever nearer until Elijah could feel him pressed tightly against him all the way down to his thighs.

They parted a moment, their lips still catching one another in light touches until their air-starved breaths subsided. Legolas nipped tenderly at Elijah's lip, threading his fingers through his dark hair. Elijah tried to draw him closer, feel every inch of him, and slid his hands further up the strong back, his fingers dipping into the long blond hair. It was cool and smooth to the touch, like chilled water. A pink flush suffused Legolas's cheeks and his lips looked slick and used. Looking at him, Elijah's heart thumped in his chest; such beauty was not to be believed, and it seemed impossible that a person could look so divinely beautiful and yet sinfully sexy at the same time. Legolas pulled their mouths back together in a heated, hungry kiss.

Elijah opened his mouth wider, not worrying about the countless little moans slipping from his throat, and angled his head, allowing Legolas to kiss him harder, allowing his tongue to explore deeper. ‘Perfect' was the only thought in Elijah's head; this is exactly how he imagined Legolas would kiss, exactly how he needed to be kissed right now: strong and burning, just enough to remind him that he had a body attached to his worrying mind.

He slowly slid his hands up Legolas's chest, feeling the soft suede against his palms, and wrapped his arms around Legolas's neck. Legolas grabbed him around the waist, kissing him with such force, he nearly lifted him from the ground. A soothing sensation of dizziness filled Elijah's head and while he didn't know how a kiss given with such intensity could be platonic, he knew that it was. He gripped Legolas's shoulders with near-bruising force, his breaths escaping him rough catches echoing Legolas's between renewed touches of tongues and lips.

Slowly, the fervor in their kisses cooled, leaving them lightly brushing mouths and exchanging breaths. Elijah felt his weight return completely to the ground as Legolas eased his hold, but still kept him close. Elijah delved his tongue into Legolas's mouth for one last taste of his sweetness and then, as if weening themselves, they kissed softer, gentler, more timid in nature until their mouths touched one last time in a quiet, chaste press of warm lips.

Still pleasantly light-headed, Elijah rested his head against Legolas's chest, his eyes closed as he steadied his breathing. Then, unexpectedly, he felt tears flooding behind his eyes. "Fuck. Shit," he breathed, his mind offering only foul words because he realized that what touched him most was not that he felt like Legolas was here with him, but that he knew it was Orlando. Orlando had spent his entire day off getting back into his Legolas gear, convincing the costumers and make-up artists to help him, and Elijah knew he hadn't told a single one of them why. So, standing there, in his friend's arms, knowing what he'd done for him, Elijah suddenly felt like crying.

"Goddamn. Fuck." He tried to pull away, but Legolas held him firm and when Elijah looked up to protest, he saw tears already lining Legolas's eyes. He stopped, struck. Legolas was heart-woundingly beautiful and the depth in his gaze spoke of admiration, affection, compassion – but not artifice; no matter that Legolas was just an actor, the tears weren't faked.

And so, Elijah wondered, if Legolas could cry, if Orlando could cry, why couldn't he? He sighed, leaning his back against the railing and let the tears come, even if he did wipe them away before they fell. He swallowed, feeling calm and relaxed, but in some sort of limbo. Who was it standing next to him, really? Who did Orlando want him to think it was? But even then, he realized it didn't matter: he felt better, and whether it was Orlando or Legolas was inconsequential because either one of them was someone he trusted and evidently someone who cared about him a great deal.

"Thanks," he said softly, shrugging lightly, his eyes on his shoes. Legolas shifted to stand right beside him. "I feel better so…yeah, thanks." Legolas laughed faintly and Elijah couldn't blame him. Even he had to admit it was a little stupid to be acting tense after a kiss like that. He let out a laugh, and turned to face Legolas, his eyes lowered. "Shut up, man," he said. "At least I'm trying." Not wanting to lift his eyes to Legolas's, he claimed a lock of blond hair and spun it around his fingers, giving some of his lingering nervousness something to do.

"It's not that big a deal, really, what's bothering me. It's really not." Elijah played with the hair in his fingers, brushing it over his hand like a paintbrush. "It's just the movies, being so far away from home, being the youngest; that sort of stuff. I guess I'm just worried I'm not good enough." He shifted uncomfortably, and briefly lifted his eyes to Legolas's. Legolas listened to him silently, his gaze clear and understanding. "I mean, this is a huge project – bigger than anything I've ever done – and they keep talking about how important Frodo is. ‘The audience has to identify with Frodo,' ‘if we don't have the right Frodo, we're lost,' ‘Frodo, Frodo, Frodo, blah-blah-blah.' It just freaks me out."

Elijah took a breath and let Legolas's hair slip smoothly from his fingers. "I'm supposed to be the big professional, child-actor-does-good. The last thing my friends need to hear is that I'm losing it because Frodo's in the script five hundred forty-four times. They'd make fun of me; they should make fun of me. It's stupid."

"Even groundless fears can be terrifying. I do not see the shame in that."

"You wouldn't."

"Nor would they." Legolas's bright eyes looked as intense as Elijah had ever seen them. "You are trying to get through this without showing any weakness, but no one can sustain that for long. Not even you."

"Not even me?" Elijah laughed. "You make it sound like I'm all special."

Legolas smiled. "Yes, I do."

Elijah felt a flattered blush rising in his cheeks and he glanced away to distract himself. His eyes fell on the pool of lamplight spilling from inside his house and the digital clock glowing bright red on his end table. It was late; he would have to be in Feet in just a little over five hours.

"You should sleep." Legolas gently touched the side of his face. "You have to be a hobbit soon."

"Yeah," Elijah replied, then grinned. "And I wouldn't want you to get in trouble with Ngila for having that outfit out too late."

Legolas smiled and lowered his eyes briefly in acknowledgement. Elijah was surprised. He'd expected an in character response like, "I do not know any Ngila and my clothes are my own," but then, he thought with a warm smile, of course not: Legolas wouldn't lie like that.

"Really, man," Elijah said sincerely. "Thank you."

"You are most welcome." Legolas pulled him close for a friendly hug and then released him. Feeling like his smile began at his feet, Elijah walked toward his porch door. His fingers had just brushed the handle when – "Elijah." His name had never sounded more wonderful.

He turned back to Legolas. "Yeah?"

"Though they have not been your friends for long, I do believe they will be your friends for life."

Elijah smiled at Orlando. "I think you're right." He slid back the porch door and stepped inside.

***

Orlando strode back toward the trailer, feeling elated, feeling happy and warm, feeling just damn fantastic. He'd helped Elijah, he was certain of it. When they'd parted, Elijah's face had looked younger and more carefree than Orlando had ever seen it, which made him suspect that Elijah had been worried and strained far longer than he'd thought.

He took a breath, inhaling the cool night air deep into his lungs. Life couldn't get any better than this: Strolling through a beautiful country at midnight, dressed up like an Elf, knowing securely that he had a promising career, a great family, and some sensational friends. All that, and he'd gotten a fabulous snog, too. What more could he want? Legolas, my friend, he thought, with all due respect, I just don't care anymore.

So what if he never felt like he'd found Legolas? He had four nutty hobbits who liked him anyway. He could waste this whole experience in his search and never get any closer to Legolas or he could do the role to the best of his ability and have the time of his life with his friends. Not the hardest decision he'd ever had to make.

Besides, he knew Legolas would only agree with his logic. According to the books, he stayed in Middle-earth for over a century after he'd heard the call of the Sea and then, he only left when Aragorn had died and he was assured Gimli could sail with the Elves to the Undying Lands. That was friendship, and that was what mattered to Legolas, so Orlando resigned to impersonating Legolas without even a twinge of guilt.

He hummed lightly to himself and gripped the door handle. Swinging the door wide, he bounded up the steps, his stride feeling light and airy. Almost immediately, his eyes fell on the mirror. He stopped, struck.

Legolas smiled at him from his reflection and his lips parted to say one word:

"Click."

***

The next morning, Elijah woke up feeling fantastic. He showered with a huge grin on his face and drove to work singing along with his radio as loudly as he could. It was only when he arrived at the trailer that he got a little nervous. He didn't know how to treat Orlando now in the dim light of dawn, and he didn't know if Dom was still mad at him.

The latter problem was solved readily enough: He ran into Dom and Billy standing with Sean outside their trailers. He and Dom greeted one another:

"Hey."

"Hey."

Punched each other on the arm – then Dom grabbed Elijah's head, gave him a quick noogie, and everything was fine again. The four Hobbits were talking with their arms casually draped across each other's shoulders when Orlando rounded the corner.

"Woah, sorry. Am I interrupting a sacred Hobbit ritual?"

"The morning powwow," Sean replied. Elijah was nervous for roughly half a second before he put his arm around Orlando's shoulders and pulled him into the huddle.

Billy closed the circle by throwing his arm over Orlando's shoulders as well. "Powwow doesn't sound very Hobbitish."

"A powwow with tomatoes and bacon," Dom said. Then a strange, goofy silence fell and the five of them simply looked at one another, smiling as the New Zealand sun rose behind them. Elijah squeezed Orlando and Sean on either side of him in half-hugs and watched as Orlando hugged Billy and Sean hugged Dom and Dom and Billy hugged one another until the half-hug made its way all the way back to Elijah and succeeded only in tightening their circle.

Elijah understood now. He probably wasn't the only actor who could bring Frodo to life. But he was the only one on earth who would fit into this group of guys like this. They were meant to play their roles and Elijah was meant to be their friend, and if that's the closest he ever got to being destined to play Frodo, then that was fine with him.

Elijah grinned at them and they all grinned back. "And…break!" Dom joked, and just like that, the moment was over. They patted one another on the shoulders, gave each other real hugs, and then went their separate ways. Dom and Billy disappeared into their trailer to become Merry and Pippin and Sean went inside his and Elijah's trailer to become Sam.

Elijah and Orlando stood for a moment, side by side outside the trailers, watching the sun crest over the horizon and spill down the mountains. "How's that tree bark thing going?"

"Great, thanks. How's Frodo?"

"Great."

They rested friendly, platonic arms across each other's shoulders and stared into the growing sunlight. "Looks like it's going to be a beautiful day," Orlando said.

Elijah nodded. "Yup, it sure does."

Thank you for reading, my friends. I appreciate it.

A/N: Hopefully this won't ruin any sweetness I may have managed to create at the end there, but through this whole thing, I wanted to write a silly little companion fic about Orlando getting gussied up as Legolas – and eating tons of sugar to make sure his mouth would taste sweet. ;) Anyway…

*****

THE END

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