Disclaimer: I do not know Elijah Wood or Viggo Mortensen in any way, shape or form. I cannot know Doctor Hannibal Lecter as he does not, as far as I am aware, exist outside of the imagination of the great Thomas Harris. Summary: Elijah runs from the wolves. Doctor Lecter is waiting. Pairing: EW/VM Rating: This Chapter is PG15. Warnings: Slightly AU. Violence. Dark Themes.
Feedback: Yes please
AN: This just cried out to me: be assured this is meant to be rather tongue in cheek and camp, not a horror fest, though there is danger and an underlying exploration of relationships and the media. Thank you. Setting: Late autumn in the run up to "The Return of the King" and immediately before the events of "Hannibal", which I have tampered with to suit my purposes, because that is how I am. Please see Part 1 for full notes. In this chapter and the following, final one, liberties are taken with regard to certain medical facts. Please allow me this poetic licence. Thank you.
The chapter headings are quotations from Dante.
"If I find you, I will never let you go," Viggo thinks, "and I will never deny you to anyone, ever again."
As he strides purposefully down the Costa di San Giorgio, he reaches into his pocket. The ring he accepted from Elijah two days ago, a plain band with only a very simple entwining of initials on the inside, is placed back on his finger. He should never have taken it off. It was a betrayal. It will be his last.
The razor stops abruptly in its downward arc and comes to rest a centimetre from the nose of Elijah Wood. His eyes, mesmerised by the steel, have closed at the last second and he tenses for the pain…
It doesn't come.
He cracks open his eye. Dr. Fell is inches away, toying with him.
"May I have more tea, please, Doctor?" Elijah asks, his voice belying the thundering of a thousand stallions in his ribcage.
"Yes, of course. I can trust you to sit here and wait for me?" asks Lecter, the razor which he had so cunningly purloined from Elijah's sleeve, now casually swinging in his dextrous hand.
"Yes. I know you have the advantage of me, Doctor. I'll wait." Elijah watches Dr. Fell's retreating back, admiring, despite himself, the sinuous grace of its owner.
"I am going to die here. He is going to slice me into a hundred pieces and…" Elijah's pitiful thought processes have now completed their computations. And he knows who he is dealing with. Although a child at the time, he still remembers the hushed whispers, the hastily snatched away newspapers. He is taking tea with Hannibal Lecter.
Night has fallen on Florence. Hardy tourists still throng the streets and churches, spilling from cafes and bars and restaurants. Viggo, his collar pulled up and his head down, ignores the bustle in much the same way that Elijah had ignored it a few hours earlier. Only, then, Elijah had rage to keep him warm. Viggo has only cold, cutting guilt.
He has no way of knowing where Elijah has gone. He might seek out loud music, he might prefer some solitude. He certainly evaded the press pack, and Viggo feels a surge of pride that he managed to do that. But, where is he? Elijah doesn't have his cell phone with him. Viggo has already called Elijah's mother, his sister, his brother, Sean Astin, his agent, his manager… the only person he hasn't tried is Dominic. And he cannot bring himself to call…
He turns downward, heading to the old city, for no reason at all. The streets are quieter now and the inane babble of the masses is receding. His footsteps echo slightly on the cold cobbles, and a stiff breeze has whipped up from nowhere. "Elijah. I am sorry." thinks Viggo, in despair.
"So. You answered the question put to you? You told the world you had just married Viggo Mortensen? Is that right?" Lecter asks the question, his tongue slipping out of his mouth to flick at a drop of tea. Elijah, watching that mobile tongue, needs a moment to answer.
"Yes. Suddenly all the pretence seemed wrong. We had made this commitment, taken the vows, had the honeymoon night… I wanted the world to know I loved him. It seemed the right thing to do," he says. He wonders if the words sound as feeble to Lecter as they do to his own ears. He has admitted to himself now, that this is, indeed, the legendary Doctor Hannibal Lecter. But he will not, cannot, admit it to the man himself. That way lies pain.
"And? Go on, please."
"They stopped being human. They changed before my eyes. They were dogs holding mikes and cameras. Suddenly there were lights flashing and popping, and we were being mauled, I mean, really manhandled. I reached for his hand..."
"Yes?"
"And his hand was gone. I was knocked to the ground and when I got to my feet he was moving away. He had decked a reporter, really smashed into him. I tried to get to him and he just kept moving. Away."
Lecter has left his chair and is at the piano. He idly taps out a snatch of a tune that Elijah does not recognise, something really quite beautiful. Elijah wills his legs to move, to aid him. He needs to focus his body to flee. But he cannot do it. He is as paralysed as surely as if the Doctor had drugged him anew.
He wonders if it will be over quickly or whether Lecter will want to drag it out. Has Lecter decided that Elijah has spent enough time on this earth? Will the razor be the instrument of his death, or something else? Those perfect, small teeth perhaps? Didn't Lecter use his mouth, tear at the flesh of his victims? Elijah's skin is tingling as it rehearses the pain it will feel, the trauma..
Lecter speaks, his voice very soft and measured.
"So, you proclaimed your love and he did not? Perhaps he was being sensible, keeping the wolves at bay. You seemed hell-bent on rolling with the pack. Why? Why court them?"
"I loved him," protests Elijah. Why does Lecter find it hard to believe?
"No. That was not why you did it. Think again." Tinkling the ivories, Lecter smiles that mirthless smile and Elijah wilts.
He digs deep. Considers the line of least resistance. Is about to speak. Stops. Then it occurs to him.
"I loved him. But more than that - I wanted to be brave. For just one time I wanted to be more of a man than him. I was the one who stood up to them. It felt good. For a moment in my life, it felt - good. I was out there and it felt good.."
Now he has said it and he is quiet, turning this new thought over in his head.
"And the rage? You were raging at the paparazzi, the pack?" asks Lecter, quietly. Elijah is so deep in thought he barely notices the doctor has left off in his playing.
"I was angry. No, more than angry. He betrayed me. And yet.."
Elijah looks up, and he is smiling, grateful, his big eyes wide and shimmering. It is suddenly all so beautifully clear! He loves Viggo. Viggo loves him. He is braver than Viggo. Elijah is strong. Viggo needs to be rescued! Frodo needs to protect Aragorn...
"I am very sorry, Elijah. You remind me so much of someone rather dear to me. You have her eyes, her spirit. You have a good heart. I covet your heart..." Elijah feels only the faintest sting as the needle slides home. His eyes begin to close almost immediately.
Elijah sees, not his mother, but Viggo in this fleeting conscious moment.