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TITLE: Shelter From the Storm (2/?)
AUTHOR: Elizabeth (sef7881@aol.com)
WEBSITE: https://www.angelfire.com/scary/randominsanity/RandomInsanity.html
PAIRING: Viggo Mortensen/Orlando Bloom
RATING: PG-13 for this part
SUMMARY: Finding hope in the darkest times
FEEDBACK: It's the highlights in my hairdo, the extra arms on Vishnu
WARNINGS: AU, references to war and violence throughout the fic
DISCLAIMER: This story is solely a product of my twisted imagination
ARCHIVE: Of Elves and Men; anywhere else please ask, but I'll surely
say yes
Orlando followed the man up the building's narrow staircase, shivering from both cold and nervousness. He began to wonder if he had made the right decision to trust a stranger with his life like this. Since he had started running all those weeks ago, Orlando hadn't put his trust in a single person, and he wasn't sure why he had felt so compelled to trust this man.
"This is it," the stranger said as they reached the third floor. He opened the door to his apartment and was immediately greeted by an overenthusiastic basset hound. The stranger spoke to the dog in Danish, presumably ordering it to calm down, and Orlando almost felt like smiling as he looked at the happy little creature. "Please, come in," the man urged.
Still a bit hesitant, Orlando slowly walked into the surprisingly spacious apartment and stood awkwardly in the living room. "Thank you," he said softly.
"I couldn't let you stay out there tonight with the weather being like this," the stranger told him in an equally soft voice. He closed the front door, lit a lamp, and turned around, giving Orlando the first good look at his face. His eyes were an intriguing shade of blue and had an air of kindness to them; he had high cheekbones and a few days' worth of stubble that didn't quite cover the cleft in his chin. The man's light brown hair was shockingly long, reaching down to his chin, and Orlando wasn't sure he had ever seen a man who allowed his hair to grow like that.
"Well, I can't tell you how grateful I am," Orlando managed to say, feeling oddly unsettled by the man's handsome appearance. "I didn't know what I was going to do tonight."
"Have you eaten recently?" The man frowned as he looked at at Orlando's painfully lean frame. "I can fix you some dinner if you'd like."
"You don't have to go through that kind of trouble for me. I'm not that hungry," Orlando lied.
"It's no trouble at all; I haven't eaten yet myself, and you're welcome to join me for dinner."
"Alright."
"Good. But first I have to fetch you some dry clothes before you get sick."
"Oh, you really don't need--"
"Don't even try to argue with me," the stranger said, his gentle tone and slight smile underscoring the order. "I'd rather not have to take you to the hospital with pneumonia."
"Thank you," Orlando murmured. He followed the man into a room and accepted the trousers, sweater, and socks that were handed to him. The man showed him to the bathroom, and Orlando closed the door and quickly changed. Before walking back out, he glanced at himself in the mirror and gasped at his gaunt appearance. No wonder the stranger insisted on clothing and feeding him -- he looked pathetic.
"Better?" the man asked when Orlando emerged from the bathroom.
"Yes. Thank you," he said again.
"Now let's see what we have to eat, shall we?" The man walked back through the living room until he reached the cozy kitchen, with Orlando shuffling mutely behind him. "I have some fruit, some biscuits and jam, and a cold chicken sandwich that I promise is still good. Take your pick."
"Biscuits would be wonderful," Orlando told him.
"Are you sure? You're welcome to the chicken sandwich if you want it."
"I appreciate that, but I don't eat meat," he explained.
"I see. So biscuits and jam it is. Would you like a pear with that?"
"Yes, thank you."
"You're welcome. Go ahead and sit down, and I'll get everything ready."
Orlando pulled out a chair, sitting down as he watched the man quickly
throw together a makeshift dinner for the two of them; he was stunned by
the man's generosity and some of his earlier apprehension had vanished.
However, he would be as careful as always not to let the truth slip about
who he was and what he was running from. Orlando had already learned
that no matter how civilized a person seemed, there was a good chance that
they would hate him simply for being Jewish. He couldn't afford to
think that this man would be any different.
