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monaboyd Jan. 11th, 2004 02:52 pm)
circe-tigana.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Jan. 11th, 2004 02:52 pm)All the Lands in Darkness
by Circe
Dom/Billeh
PG-13
Summary: “I’m glad you’re with me, Bills, here at the end of all things.”
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
anniesj, who double dog dared me to write Apocabilleh because she's crazy like that. And so am I.
This is my first LOTRips, though I've written extensively in Buffy/Angel, Once Upon a Time in Mexico, and Pirates of the Caribbean fandoms.
They’ve all given interviews about how their time in New Zealand has changed their lives.
Elijah spoke of growing up. Billy spoke of lifelong friendships. Sean spoke of the chance to be part of something special. And Dom? He said that Orlando was queerer than a tangerine, that Viggo had breath like a horse, and that Daisy Wenham couldn’t act his way out of a paper bag. Then Dom beamed and said, nah, he was just joking. It was really Beanie who was the terrible actor, but his ego was very fragile and they couldn’t make fun of him ’cause he might cry.
They’ve all said it: going to New Zealand changed their lives.
But they never get a chance to tell anyone about how it saved them. Anyone who might have cared is dead.
Dom can’t ride for shit, and his only comfort in this fact is that Billy can’t ride for shit either.
It’s not their fault. All those scenes of Merry and Dernhelm, of Gandalf and Pippin — they all called for the sodding scale doubles, didn’t they? No need for the hobbit actors to get on the horses; leave the riding for the real halflings.
Of course, it’s not like they couldn’t have. Left with Viggo and the others, that is. He can’t blame shooting schedules, or training regimes, or the crapshoot of casting for the fact that he stands and watches his mates mount up and ride out of town. When it comes right down to the heart of it, you see, he’s a city boy. From Manchester … and no matter how they tart her up, no matter how many condos they build in Salford, or how many footballers’ dance clubs they open under the old Victorian railway, Manchester will always be a place of real working class, you know? Dirt of the Industrial Revolution, and honest dirt at that. Coronation Street Dom’s arse, and he stands there in the near-empty streets of Wellington thinking about the grime and crime Mosside. And misses it with a fierceness he’s forgotten he’s capable of.
But they’ve all learned that missing things is pointless. Dominic Monaghan has always been good at coasting in the moment, and it will save him in the end. It will see him right. At least, that’s what Billy says.
So he retreats from regret with the ease of the young and watches this breaking of the Fellowship. There’s something ... mythic ... about it, and since he’s just spent the last eleven months of his life in the most beautiful country on earth being mythic-ed to death, it speaks to the gravity of the occasion that this is up there with the best of anything old Tolkien could concoct.
Viggo tightens Brego’s saddle, leather reins folded in his calloused hand. Dom notices, but doesn’t comment on, Aragorn’s sword, strapped tightly to the man’s back. This is not method acting any more; this is method living. Survival. And Dom respects that.
“You can still come with us, Dominic.”
Orlando’s hair has grown in, long and dark and curly. Such a pretty elf, Dom thinks, and that kind of teasing thought seems absurdly out of place today. The sun is hidden beneath the haze that’s crept at long last over the ocean to reach the ends of the world. Everything’s heavy with expectation. And they cannot remain here, for the Last Homely House isn’t safe anymore. Not with the evil of the world crowding in.
Dom shakes his head. Cracked. He’s cracking. He can feel the wide curve of his mouth and wonders if there’s mania in his eyes. He feels like there might be. “Where are you going?” he asks. To fill the silence, more than out of any desire to know.
There are sixteen of them in the group. Crew, some WETA folks, Vig, Salla, Bernard Hill. Sean and his family took off weeks ago, trying to get a plane back to the States. No one has heard from them since. No one talks about it, either. Like they never talk about how Fran disappeared when P.J. was killed in the riots. Or how Elijah was visiting L.A. when it all happened. How everyone’s dead except those on these two little islands. And millions of bloody sheep. Strange when you think about it.
Better to not.
“Vig thought we should ride out into the country. Get out of the city. He thinks the looting will get worse.”
Dom knows this is true.
Orli looks so serious; it’s almost funny, even though it’s not. Earnest. Young. Dom wonders if he looks that young. “We might make for Edoras if we can get there. It’s in the middle of nowhere, and all the supplies are still there. Might be a good place to make camp. To wait.”
He wants to shake him, this pretty, stupid, sodding elf. Wait for what? Help to arrive? The storm to blow over?
There won’t be a Shire!
Dom swallows it down, which is new. He never used to be any good at resisting impulse. Amusing that just as he’s running out of time he learns patience.
He’s watching them, Viggo is. The method man; the leader of men. “All right, Dominic?” he asks in his soft voice.
Tears well, itch. Dom swipes his sleeve across his face. “Yeah, mate. All right. Good luck.”
“And to you.” There’s a world of understanding there.
They mount, and Dom wishes desperately that Pete were here to see it. The last ride of the race of Men. And as the horses disappear around the corner he thinks: You can’t make this shit up. Life imitates art, and art imitates life, until you’re here, by yourself, at the edge of the world.
But not quite.
Standing to the right of him is Billy, eyes quiet and watchful. His body is loose, relaxed, and he returns Dom’s regard with typical implacable Billy grace.
Dom says, “I thought you might go.”
Billy shrugs. “Thought I might stay, actually.”
“You could have gone. I wouldn’t have blamed you.” Dom cannot hold the stare. He looks away, off, down the street.
There’s a brief hesitation before a slender hand reaches over and touches Dom’s shoulder. Dom feels the heat of Bill’s fingers through his t-shirt. “I won’t leave you, Dommie,” Billy says.
He is broken then; shattered. “Oh, God.” He turns into the other man, and Billy holds out his arms.
Finally, when he can breathe again, when the ache in his chest subsides enough, he pulls away. But only to arm's length. “I’m glad you’re with me, Bills, here at the end of all things.”
Billy snorts. “You’re a sopping wet git.”
It’s going to be all right for them. Their ending. He can feel it. “I suppose you’re staying for the drink, are you? All these bars, left unattended.”
“Too bloody right I am. Don’t want to go traipsing about the countryside at my age. Not all Scots like sheep, y’know.” Billy laughs then, high and sweet. In the face of this lilting laughter, all Dom can do is grin -- a big, messy, lopsided grin.
And together they walk merry through the deserted streets of Wellington, two hobbits under a red-haze sky, at the end of the First Age.
by Circe
Dom/Billeh
PG-13
Summary: “I’m glad you’re with me, Bills, here at the end of all things.”
For
anniesj, who double dog dared me to write Apocabilleh because she's crazy like that. And so am I.This is my first LOTRips, though I've written extensively in Buffy/Angel, Once Upon a Time in Mexico, and Pirates of the Caribbean fandoms.
They’ve all given interviews about how their time in New Zealand has changed their lives.
Elijah spoke of growing up. Billy spoke of lifelong friendships. Sean spoke of the chance to be part of something special. And Dom? He said that Orlando was queerer than a tangerine, that Viggo had breath like a horse, and that Daisy Wenham couldn’t act his way out of a paper bag. Then Dom beamed and said, nah, he was just joking. It was really Beanie who was the terrible actor, but his ego was very fragile and they couldn’t make fun of him ’cause he might cry.
They’ve all said it: going to New Zealand changed their lives.
But they never get a chance to tell anyone about how it saved them. Anyone who might have cared is dead.
Dom can’t ride for shit, and his only comfort in this fact is that Billy can’t ride for shit either.
It’s not their fault. All those scenes of Merry and Dernhelm, of Gandalf and Pippin — they all called for the sodding scale doubles, didn’t they? No need for the hobbit actors to get on the horses; leave the riding for the real halflings.
Of course, it’s not like they couldn’t have. Left with Viggo and the others, that is. He can’t blame shooting schedules, or training regimes, or the crapshoot of casting for the fact that he stands and watches his mates mount up and ride out of town. When it comes right down to the heart of it, you see, he’s a city boy. From Manchester … and no matter how they tart her up, no matter how many condos they build in Salford, or how many footballers’ dance clubs they open under the old Victorian railway, Manchester will always be a place of real working class, you know? Dirt of the Industrial Revolution, and honest dirt at that. Coronation Street Dom’s arse, and he stands there in the near-empty streets of Wellington thinking about the grime and crime Mosside. And misses it with a fierceness he’s forgotten he’s capable of.
But they’ve all learned that missing things is pointless. Dominic Monaghan has always been good at coasting in the moment, and it will save him in the end. It will see him right. At least, that’s what Billy says.
So he retreats from regret with the ease of the young and watches this breaking of the Fellowship. There’s something ... mythic ... about it, and since he’s just spent the last eleven months of his life in the most beautiful country on earth being mythic-ed to death, it speaks to the gravity of the occasion that this is up there with the best of anything old Tolkien could concoct.
Viggo tightens Brego’s saddle, leather reins folded in his calloused hand. Dom notices, but doesn’t comment on, Aragorn’s sword, strapped tightly to the man’s back. This is not method acting any more; this is method living. Survival. And Dom respects that.
“You can still come with us, Dominic.”
Orlando’s hair has grown in, long and dark and curly. Such a pretty elf, Dom thinks, and that kind of teasing thought seems absurdly out of place today. The sun is hidden beneath the haze that’s crept at long last over the ocean to reach the ends of the world. Everything’s heavy with expectation. And they cannot remain here, for the Last Homely House isn’t safe anymore. Not with the evil of the world crowding in.
Dom shakes his head. Cracked. He’s cracking. He can feel the wide curve of his mouth and wonders if there’s mania in his eyes. He feels like there might be. “Where are you going?” he asks. To fill the silence, more than out of any desire to know.
There are sixteen of them in the group. Crew, some WETA folks, Vig, Salla, Bernard Hill. Sean and his family took off weeks ago, trying to get a plane back to the States. No one has heard from them since. No one talks about it, either. Like they never talk about how Fran disappeared when P.J. was killed in the riots. Or how Elijah was visiting L.A. when it all happened. How everyone’s dead except those on these two little islands. And millions of bloody sheep. Strange when you think about it.
Better to not.
“Vig thought we should ride out into the country. Get out of the city. He thinks the looting will get worse.”
Dom knows this is true.
Orli looks so serious; it’s almost funny, even though it’s not. Earnest. Young. Dom wonders if he looks that young. “We might make for Edoras if we can get there. It’s in the middle of nowhere, and all the supplies are still there. Might be a good place to make camp. To wait.”
He wants to shake him, this pretty, stupid, sodding elf. Wait for what? Help to arrive? The storm to blow over?
There won’t be a Shire!
Dom swallows it down, which is new. He never used to be any good at resisting impulse. Amusing that just as he’s running out of time he learns patience.
He’s watching them, Viggo is. The method man; the leader of men. “All right, Dominic?” he asks in his soft voice.
Tears well, itch. Dom swipes his sleeve across his face. “Yeah, mate. All right. Good luck.”
“And to you.” There’s a world of understanding there.
They mount, and Dom wishes desperately that Pete were here to see it. The last ride of the race of Men. And as the horses disappear around the corner he thinks: You can’t make this shit up. Life imitates art, and art imitates life, until you’re here, by yourself, at the edge of the world.
But not quite.
Standing to the right of him is Billy, eyes quiet and watchful. His body is loose, relaxed, and he returns Dom’s regard with typical implacable Billy grace.
Dom says, “I thought you might go.”
Billy shrugs. “Thought I might stay, actually.”
“You could have gone. I wouldn’t have blamed you.” Dom cannot hold the stare. He looks away, off, down the street.
There’s a brief hesitation before a slender hand reaches over and touches Dom’s shoulder. Dom feels the heat of Bill’s fingers through his t-shirt. “I won’t leave you, Dommie,” Billy says.
He is broken then; shattered. “Oh, God.” He turns into the other man, and Billy holds out his arms.
Finally, when he can breathe again, when the ache in his chest subsides enough, he pulls away. But only to arm's length. “I’m glad you’re with me, Bills, here at the end of all things.”
Billy snorts. “You’re a sopping wet git.”
It’s going to be all right for them. Their ending. He can feel it. “I suppose you’re staying for the drink, are you? All these bars, left unattended.”
“Too bloody right I am. Don’t want to go traipsing about the countryside at my age. Not all Scots like sheep, y’know.” Billy laughs then, high and sweet. In the face of this lilting laughter, all Dom can do is grin -- a big, messy, lopsided grin.
And together they walk merry through the deserted streets of Wellington, two hobbits under a red-haze sky, at the end of the First Age.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
From:
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that just stomped on my heart. beautifully, though.
I'm not really into the apocalypse angle, just my own personal love for happy endings even in the unlikeliest of situations, lol. but even so....amazing. Apocalypse fics may not make me happy, but this was very interesting to read. I wouldn't mind seeing more fics like it.
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Thanks for your kind keyboard mashing :)
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I think I shall have to rec this in my LJ if you don't mind.
It made me suddenly think of another fine story, a book called THE LAST DAYS OF THE LATE, GREAT STATE OF CALIFORNIA
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Over in Buffy fandom, we are rather fond of our post-apocalyptic AUs :) I started this as a joke, but was boggled by how well the scenario translated.
Thanks for letting me know you liked it!
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There’s a brief hesitation before a slender hand reaches over and touches Dom’s shoulder. Dom feels the heat of Bill’s fingers through his t-shirt. “I won’t leave you, Dommie,” Billy says.
He is broken then; shattered. “Oh, God.” He turns into the other man, and Billy holds out his arms.
this just tore me. the imagery is vivid, and i can see the guys saying these things.
it hurts, and there should not be any hope, but there is. even if it is the hope that is borne out of the knowledge that, when things finally end, no one will be alone.
like
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Yes, exactly. You put it so well!
like piratesorka, I have recced this story in my lj.
Thank you!
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no subject
I've never acctually read an end-of-the-world story. It was really good.
I adore the beginning.
And Dom? He said that Orlando was queerer than a tangerine, that Viggo had breath like a horse, and that Daisy Wenham couldn’t act his way out of a paper bag. Then Dom beamed and said, nah, he was just joking. It was really Beanie who was the terrible actor, but his ego was very fragile and they couldn’t make fun of him ’cause he might cry.
I was cracking up. Seriously.
This was great.
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It really pulled on those heartstrings. -sniff-
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::hands you a kleenex::
Thanks for letting me know you liked it :)
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I love how you managed to capture a slice of peace in the midst of what must have been terror going around... I think you did a perfect job conveying the apocalyptic atmosphere without actually showing the chaos. Lovely.
Also, it was exciting to read since I'm in the middle of writing an apocalypse fic of my own, hee, though it's nothing like this.
Really marvelous job!
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You know, I'm usually fairly articulate but this has just killed me. This was absolutely amazing. Seriously. Words can not express how much I utterly adore this fic.
He said that Orlando was queerer than a tangerine, that Viggo had breath like a horse, and that Daisy Wenham couldn't act his way out of a paper bag. Then Dom beamed and said, nah, he was just joking. It was really Beanie who was the terrible actor, but his ego was very fragile and they couldn't make fun of him 'cause he might cry.
This part was great because, even though I'd read the summary and knew what was coming, this made me smile. I really admire fics and writers that can do this - make me smile or laugh when I know something tragic is going to happen.
Sean and his family took off weeks ago, trying to get a plane back to the States. No one has heard from them since. No one talks about it, either. Like they never talk about how Fran disappeared when P.J. was killed in the riots. Or how Elijah was visiting L.A. when it all happened. How everyone’s dead except those on these two little islands. And millions of bloody sheep. Strange when you think about it.
This passage was just heart-wrenching, the way everything was stated so matter-of-factly, so calm and yet there's this underlying sense of the tragedy that runs all the way through.
And together they walk merry through the deserted streets of Wellington, two hobbits under a red-haze sky, at the end of the First Age.
Perfect, perfect, perfect last line.
[/fangirling]
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So glad you liked! And thanks loads for letting me know what worked for you!
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xxx
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good job!
-claire.
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Thanks for commenting :)
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“I won’t leave you, Dommie,” Billy says.
Oh I'm such a sucker for Billy calling him Dommie. Gets me every time.
And the last line of the story is just perfect. Beautiful.
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*loves*
Thankyou for this.
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i kind of like apoc. movies, duh on me that i would like apoc. fics too
yay!
(goes well with the song "in remote part/scottish fiction" by idlewild... just the feeling i got while reading it and listening to this was amazing)
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thank you for introducing me to idlewild
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Re: thank you for introducing me to idlewild
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and I loved the way you didnt tell us what was going on, you showed us through Doms feelings and thoughts (we became aware of things in a natural, non-forced sort of way). I liked that I wasnt completely sure how the world was ending, nor why. But we only knew that it was, and general idea of how it came about: i like that you didnt beat us over the head with the technicalities.
a truly wonderful piece of writing.
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It felt very John Wyndham in places, mostly Day of the Triffids but also hints of The Chrysalids with New Zealand being all that's left, a vision of a white city on a blue and green harbour. but that could just be my mind seeing only the obvious... :)
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There is actually a part two of sorts set in this universe -- it's one of the drabbles from 132 Celebrations of LOTRIPS (http://www.livejournal.com/users/anniesj/228967.html)
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*Reads, happily*
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