Beyond 1

"Beyond"
Part 1
by Beryll

When I awoke, I had no idea where I was, how I had gotten there or even who I was. My mind was totally blank. For quite a while - a least it seemed like quite a while - I was adrift in grey nothingness. It didn't even occur to me, I should be wondering about my state.

Then something intruded into my little world. I cannot say, if it was a sound from the outside or my body realizing I was awake and demanding immediate attention. For it really was in a sorry state, as I realized as soon, as feeling returned. A little groan of pain escaped my bruised lips and my eyes flew open, for the burning wasteland, my back seemed to be, sprang full strength into my consciousness.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the glaring light of a desert sun, high in the sky, but as soon as they had, memory came flooding back as well and I wished with all my heart I had just stayed unconcious. Memories mingled with dark feelings of fear. I would have expected hatred of my captors as well, but obviously my courage was not as great as I had always thought it to be. One thorough beating and I was cowering in fear, my only wish, they would not take note of me again.

How weak civilization makes man. Pain is something only experienced in accidents and then there will be somebody to take care of your needs, put you in a hospital and numb the pain away. How ill prepared I was for a true trial. And I had always fancied myself to be some kind of hero. How very stupid of me. Now I was just wishing for someone, anyone to hold me and tell me it would be alright. But that seemed a very remote possibility, considering what little I had learned of this place so far.

My first awakening had been even stranger than this one. For I clearly remembered falling asleep in my very own bed. So why was I now lying on hard, gritty sand, a merciless sun burning down on my head? And why was I clad in garments that seemed to have come right out of some fantasy-movie, including sword at my side and a dagger I somehow knew was hidden in my right boot?

I had sat up very slowly, for my head had been spinning, as if I had bumped it on something really hard. There had not really been anything to see. Just endless masses of sand in every possible direction and the sun overhead. How the hell had I come to be here? Or was it just a very real feeling dream? Somewhat comforted by that thought - for if it was a dream, something interesting would happen soon - I picked one direction and just started walking.

It turned out, there was not going to happen anything at all. I had just walked and walked and walked till I had gotten tired and very, very sunburned. Then I had decided to sit down and wait till I would wake up, for this was the most boring, uninspired and unpleasant dream, I had had in a long time.

I must have fallen asleep, for when I woke again, I was not lying in the sand anymore, neither was I back in my bed where I belonged. Instead I was bound with strong ropes and stuffed onto a slow moving cart. Whoever had found and bound me had also relieved me of that sword - I was reluctant to call it my sword - and my boots. So the dagger, which would have been handy now, was gone as well.

Sitting up a little, I got a look at my new surroundings, just interested in where I was now, not feeling fear at all, still believing it was but a dream. I should have doubted that notion even then. For who has heard of people waking up in the same dream repeatedly. The cart was drawn by some strange beast, a bit like a camel, but with a lower back and little claws instead of hooves, the like I had never seen before. A dirty old man was sitting on the cart and directing it. There was none else around and my first thought was "oh, great, captured by an old man you could easily beat into oblivion with your hands unbound".

But maybe everything was not lost. Maybe he would free me, if I talked to him. So I asked him very politely to take of my bounds. He turned around, glared at me and told me something in a language I did not understand. I tried again in a different language. And than in a third. Maybe it was not so bad, my mother made me learn all this, when I went to school. Maybe I could find something he would understand. But he didn't. Instead he suddenly turned around, a heavy club in his hand and before I even realized, what he was about to do, he bashed it across my skull and darkness enveloped me again.

And again I awoke. It had turned into a bad habit, and every time my surroundings where a little worse. And slowly I was starting to doubt, if this was but a dream after all. That time I did not wake up by my self but got dowsed with a bucket of dirty water. There were several men standing around me. All of them dirty, all of them smelling like they had never seen a bath in their lifes - which was quite likely, considering I was still in this desert land.

They were talking in their own language. Obviously about me. One of them was the old guy from the cart and he kicked me, to make some point. That really did it. I was just so fed up with this really stupid dream or whatever it was, I raised up my head, snarling at him angrily. I hadn't even known, I was able to do that - not in real life at least. And than I actually moved quickly enough to get to my feet despite my still bound hands and kick him as well.

Bad move. I had hit him pretty good and he fell, but his friends were not happy with my actions. They were upon me immediately raining blows on me, cursing in their own language. It didn't take them long, to get me under control, bound as I was. And what good does a fighting training, when the main part has always been not to hurt your partner?

Things like that went trough my mind, as they held me down. The old man had gotten up again and kicked me once more, just for good measure. I felt really hurt then but looking back now, I could laugh at my own naivity. That had just been a little helping of what was to come. For these people really hate it, when their charges have ideas of their own.

The old man started arguing with the others again. e didn't seem to be very pleased with what he heard, but in the end he accepted a hand full of coins, spit at the ground next to my face - which I think was bad aim, he clearly wanted to hit me - and moved of.

The others still held me to the dusty ground. Two of them kept hold of me while a third went away, to return a moment later with an iron collar he put on my neck. I had just a moment to wonder, how he was going to fasten it, for it had nothing like a lock on it, when it touched my skin an I realized that the ends were burning hot and while I screamed in pain he crudely hammered them together, the other two firmly holding my neck on the ground.

I was dazed, with pain, when threw another bucket of water on my neck. Probably not to burn their own precious fingers. Then they pulled me up and dragged me out of the room we had been in so far. I tried get my feet under me, I really did, but they wouldn't have it and kicked me again, till I just let them drag me.

By the time we reached our destination, I my mind had cleared enough for me to notice my surroundings again. The desert was not as empty as I had presumed, for we were in some kind of town. A strange one, definitely, for there was a mixture of very old stone buildings - more in ruins than still standing - and shacks of leather and mud build into the older structures. My captors had dragged me out of one of the better stone building to two poles, standing before the building. They were made of stone and strangely carved. But what really caught my attention was, how dark the dusty ground was between those poles.

I have no idea how I knew - maybe things like that are stored somewhere in the memory of the human race - but I was certain that it was the blood of countless victims, who had been chained between the poles and been tortured. And that was, where we were going. No wonder I started to struggle again. Of course I didn't stand a chance, bound and hurt as I was. I don't know, if it made my punishment worse or if they intended to beat me into oblivion from the start.

Anyway I at least managed to give one of them a severe headache, kicking him so hard he actually dropped and didn't rise again. I hadn't even known I was capable of such violence. They actually seemed impressed for they called some more of their friends and I ended up chained to the poles in spite of my foolish bravery.

I was a bit dazed again, for this had been my second fight and subsequent beating in only a couple of minutes, but that changed the moment, they ripped my shirt from my back and I heard the first cracking of the whip behind me. They hadn't even beat me yet, but already I felt like screaming or begging for mercy, so frightening was the sound alone. I cannot describe, how the whip cuts the air, ripping it to shreds. I knew then, I was not dreaming. This was real and I was going to experience what pain was.

Now I think, that made it worse. This realization, followed mere seconds behind by the first impact of the whip to my back. Oh, I have read it countless times in the books, seen it in the movies - how they grit their teeth and somehow manage not to scream, how they are so brave and only break down after ten, twenty, thirty lashes or not at all. Bullshit! Nobody could take that kind of pain and not scream. However brave or strong you my be, your body will betray you. You will scream as loud and as long as you can, for it's the only thing you can do to try and relieve the pain. I know. I screamed my throat raw and still would have screamed more. It took eternity for darkness to finally blanket my mind and send me into pain-free unconsciousness.

And now I had awaked again, still not freed from this nightmare. And by now, I didn't really believe anymore, I ever would. I was still chained to the two poles. I had no idea how long I had been unconcious. The sun seemed to have stayed right in the same place, high up in the sky, beating down on anybody who was stupid - or unfortunate - enough to be outside. I couldn't feel my hands, as my body had been hanging by my wrists while my mind was gone. And my back... well, the pain could not really be ignored but I gave it my best shot.

Slowly I managed to lift my head a little, getting my feet back under me, to relieve my wrists. And had a little look around. Before I had only noticed the poles and then nothing more. Now I realized, there were other people around. Mostly clad in long, nomad-like garments, veils and shawls protecting against the sun and the ever present dust. They were moving around slowly, speaking in their strange language.

It was pretty obvious, what they were doing, even if I didn't understand a word they said. They were trading. In human stock. For there were countless men, women and children, chained, most half naked, kept in pens like cattle, sometimes being inspected, sometimes changing owners but mostly sitting around with dull and empty eyes, waiting for a fate, they had no say in.

And finally I realized that I was to share their fate. The iron collar around my neck clearly marked me as one of them. I closed my eyes again, for this really was to much to bear, after everything that had happen to me in what seemed to be only a couple of hours. The pain, mixed with fear and the feeling of utter defeat, crept up in my throat till I couldn't hold back a soft sob and a tear worked its way through the sweat and dirt covering my face.
How the hell had I gotten here? How could this be happening to me? What had I done to deserve punishment like this? There was no answer I could find and certainly the people around me wouldn't give me one, even had they understood even one word I said.

For a while I wallowed in my misery. Not willing or able to look at my surroundings or the future. But at last I had to open my eyes again. And if only, to at least see in advance, when my tormentors returned, so I could prepare and not break down screamed, as soon as they approached.

There really was not much to do, hanging between these posts, waiting for the next horrible event, that would surely come. Surprisingly my taste for bad humor returned and I began to wonder, if they would just leave me here, in the open and let me rot as a warning sign to others. Wouldn't that be fun? Idly I began to catalogue my ailments.

First and foremost there was my back, still blazing with excruciating pain, as if someone had poured napalm on it and set it on fire. Second place went to my thirst, getting worse by the minute, now that I had noticed it. My belly was grumbling as well, but it was far behind my wrists in the pain aspect. Maybe I should just have continued hanging down by them, not taking the weight of them. Then they would probably have stayed numb. Now they started to demand attention as well. And a quick look at them showed me that they had every right to, bleeding and raw as they were from way to much strain.

Did I already mention, how ill prepared I was for this adventure? Who ever had cast me for this part, had badly misjudged my ability to handle pain. And my courage. For I had no idea whatsoever, what I would do, if they ever let me down from these horrible posts. Shouldn't I be making bolt plans of escape and revenge? That's what they expect from a hero. But a hero I am certainly not. That point had been driven home very thoroughly.

I let my eyes wander over the strange building surrounding me, to take my mind of my situation. And strange they were indeed. There were distorted faces and weird forms carved into every surface, given them the look of evil but ancient and abandoned temples. Whatever had lived here before the slavers - that's what I had started to call them in my mind - had come, had probably not been friendlier. If it had even been human.

Some of the buildings where still looming high in the sky, but nobody seemed to go up there, for I saw no humans going higher than the first story. So I rested my eyes on the highest ledges, which were unspoiled by the filthy humans walking below them.

They left me hanging there for quite some time. Probably a warning to other rebellious slaves. Or maybe they just forgot I was there. The sun had finally moved in the sky, dipping towards the horizon, when two guards came to take me down. This time I was wise enough not to fight them. I couldn't have anyway, even had I tried. I couldn't even stay on my feet.

They dragged me over to one of the pens, dropping me in an empty one, kicking me once just for good measure. Then they left me alone and I just lay on the ground, grateful for not having to move, my cramped muscles screaming in the pain of finally letting go of the tension. My vision was swimming, blurry patches appearing here and there and I concluded, it must be dehydration, combined with to much pain and shock.

I felt strangely detached from my own situation. Looking at my condition with clinic interest but not really realizing anymore I was looking at myself. The sun slowly disappeared, the night bringing with it a chilling cold, the more chilling to me as they had taken all my clothes expect my trousers. I finally got myself to move enough to huddle in a corner of the pen, drawing my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around my knees. I was cold, thirsty, hungry and in horrible pain. I was very sure, things couldn't get worse now.

To my surprise it turned out I was right. Things didn't get worse. Just a whole lot stranger.

A pale moon had climbed into the sky, when I woke up again. I couldn't even remember falling asleep. I must have been so exhausted, I might have blackened out as well. At first I thought my own shivering had woken me up, but then I heard shouting in one of the streets leading to the square with the poles, where I had spent most of the day. Angry shouting drawing nearer.

I didn't move, still to tired and frozen solid anyway. But I watched. Soon a whole pack of the slaver emerged from the street, dragging with them a bound man, who didn't move. Two of the slaver where being helped by there colleagues, barely able to stay on their feet. One was being carried, unconcious maybe even dead. Whoever they had caught, had obviously not cooperated. I wondered, if he would receive the same treatment I had. I doubted it, since it was the middle of the night and the slavers seemed unsure as well. They stopped at the poles, still holding their captive, arguing noisily. In the end they did chain the man to the poles, but just left to keep the punishment for the morning.

I awoke again to the sound of somebody opening the door to the pen I was in. Had I not already been in a corner, I would have instinctively scrambled back further. As there was nowhere to go, I just watched one of the slavers drop a piece of bread and a wooden bottle into my cage and disappear again. I did not feel like moving, but my thirst demanded otherwise.

So I unfolded my cramped legs and made my way over to the bottle. The water tasted like it had been dead for ages and the bread was hard enough to break your teeth, but it was a relief none the less. I sat down next to the iron bares of the pen and watched the bustling of the slavers. Again I started to feel, like all this had nothing to do with me. Like I was just watching what was happening to myself through a window. Or maybe watching myself act on a movie-screen.

Then a group of the slavers walked over to the figure, still chained to the poles, which seemed not to have moved at all. I was wondering, if the man was dead, but one of the slavers kicked him and he came awake with a start, probably snarling at his captors the way they recoiled. He violently pulled at the chains and tried to kick one of the slavers, cursing them loudly. They obviously didn't like his behavior, for one went running over to the stone building, I had woken up in, while the others stood in a loose circle around the poles, cursing the captive and taunting him.

Soon the slaver returned bringing with him the same whip, they had probably used on me. The slaver showed it to the man, but he seemed not impressed, for he spat at the slaver, missing him by an inch. I silently wondered, if he would still be so brave when they started beating him. Remembering my own ordeal I doubted it.

The other slavers moved back, while the one with the whip stepped behind the man, drew a knife and cut of the captive's tunic. Even as far away as I was, I saw the man tense up and grip the chains binding him to the posts, obviously preparing for the beating.

The slaver stepped back some paces and cracked the whip once. To get a feel for it and to let his victim hear it, to put fear into him, just like they had done with me. I winced at the sound, my own back burning in searing pain again. For the first time I wondered, if my back would ever properly heal or if I would wear the scars for the rest of my life and how that would interfere with my career. Then an evil little voice in my head told me, my life wouldn't be that much longer anyway and my career would certainly not continue here.

Then my attention was caught by the display in front of me again. The first lash fell on the back of the captive man and again I winced in sympathy but the man didn't even flinch. I watched as the beating wore on. Lash after lash fell and still he refused to cry out.

The slaver seemed mightily annoyed by the captives lack of appreciation for his hard work and laid into him with all force. And I felt just a little annoyed as well. It's not very flattering for ones self-esteem to be proven weak so very obviously. But as blood started to flow down the man's back and he was not able to stay on his feet anymore, hanging on the chains, still not willing to give the slaver the satisfaction of hearing him scream, I just had to start admiring his stubbornness. Although I was silently praying for him to either give in or faint, before they beat him to death.

In the end his consciousness fled and his body slumped forward, now only held by the chains. The slavers let the whip fall two more time, before he decided, his victim didn't feel it anymore. Then he walked up to the unconcious man, pulled his head up by his long blonde hair and spat into his face in a gesture of useless spite.

Then he gestured for the others to take the man down. Obviously he was no suitable example for the other slaves, having defied his captors by staying strong. I wondered who would buy a slave like that. He would certainly not obey anybody and might even make others rebellious. Had I been a buyer I would have stayed far away from one like that. Maybe they would keep him unconcious? Or could that be interpreted as fraud, when the buyer realized, what he had gotten into. Like buying foul fruit...

I shook those thoughts from my head, as I watched the slavers drag the unconcious man to the pen I was in. So they where putting the trouble-makers together. Another thing, I would not have done in the slavers place. They might be violent and dangerous but they were certainly not very intelligent. Didn't need to be on the other hand. Even if I found a way to get out of the pen, which shouldn't be too difficult, I had nowhere to go, neither speaking their language nor even knowing where I was.

Still I had a closer look at the lock of the door, when they opened it, to throw in the unconcious man. It was a crude thing, not even comparable to a modern padlock and I had little doubt I could open it, given a little time. You learn to do things like that, when you are as prone to forget your keys everywhere, as I am. Otherwise you would spend your life outside your own home...

The slavers kicked the man just for good measure, relocked the door and went away, pleased with what they had accomplished. Then I turned to look at the guy who would share my cozy little home with me for the time being. They had dropped him face down in the dirt. The skin on his back was ripped to shreds, bleeding freely and I wondered what my own must look like. Maybe it was good, I couldn't see it.

I went over to him and carefully turned him onto his side, so his wounds wouldn't come into contact with the dirt, to get a look at his face, which had so far been hidden first by the night and then by his hair. But when I did see it, I let go of him with a gasp. 'No' was the only thought racing through my suddenly muddled brains. 'No, that's not possible!'

Because the face was all to familiar. A face I had spent many nights and quite a couple of days thinking about. And not only about that face, the ever-present voice inside my head added and brought back some reality. With trembling hands I grabbed his shoulders again and looked at his face more closely. It was just not possibly. I just had to be wrong.

But I was not. It definitely was Sean. I had not seen him for more than a year. Personally that is, as I have made sure I have all of his movies. But if was Sean. It was just not possible anybody could look that much like him and not be him. But what was he doing here in this nightmare? 'And why is he so damn much stronger than you are?' the little voice added with distinct annoyance.

And then my eyes wandered lower on his body and stopped dead at three small round scars, decorating his chest. I don't know, how many beats my hearts missed then, but it must have been quite a lot, for I was feeling very dizzy and the world around me suddenly lost all reality. I was not able to form one coherent thought in my head, but thankfully that did not apply to the little voice. 'That's not Sean.' It told me calmly 'That's Boromir.'

And suddenly realization hit me like a tsunami-wave. I was in middle-earth. Not the movie I had spent filming for more than a year. Not the movie, that had broken my heart so thoroughly I still mostly hid in my house in the wilderness. The real middle-earth. 'Toto, I don't think we're in Cansas anymore' my little voice told me cheerfully and I mentally squashed it with all the force I could muster.

For quite a while I sat there, staring at those three little scars, left by orc arrows, that should have killed the man I was still holding by his shoulders, thinking empty spaces. This was just to alien. I did understand now, but I did not comprehend at all.

How the hell had I gotten here? And why, of all things, did Boromir look exactly like the actor who had played him? That was just outright... weird. What would have happened if I had come here, before the movies had been shot? Or had there not been a 'here' then? That was a very futile thing to consider. The whole situation was outright ridiculous.

So if this was Boromir, did that mean that Aragorn looked like me? Boy, would Boromir be surprised when he would wake up to find me by his side. Weak and useless little Viggo, not feeling very hero or king like at all.

What was he doing here anyway? I could not recall any desert in the Tolkien novels. And why was he alive? Well, Mr. Tolkien, seems you got some things wrong here, you see, Boromir didn't die of those orc arrows... His millions of fans would be very disappointed. Or maybe not, considering how said fans had complained about their very favorite hero dying in the first of the three movies already. What had Peter been supposed to do? Change the whole story and let him survive by some miracle, only for our poor director to be killed by the other raving fans, who had already threatened to rip his head of for letting Arwen speak...?

I pulled myself back from that train of thought. It didn't have anything to do with my current situation and I knew myself well enough to realize I was desperately trying to escape the facts. And the facts were I was in middle-earth in some desert and Boromir was lying unconcious in my arms. Hmm... He really did look like Sean...

Again I mentally slapped myself. That wouldn't lead to anything productive either. Although it was a rather tempting direction. So if Boromir was alive I had no way to tell, what else might have happened differently to the story in the books. And of course I had no idea 'when' I was. Sometime after the attack of the orcs, that was my only clue.

But where did this frigging desert come from...? I searched through my brain for some memory of a map of middle-earth. There was one in every of the damned books but I had never really looked at one. For the first time since I had started filming that cursed movie I wished one of the all-knowing fans would come by so I could ask. Any one of them would certainly know and think me utterly ignorant. Fuck.

My musing was cut short by a deep groan coming from the body I was holding. Considering that he had only passed out a couple of minutes ago, it was outright amazing that he should wake up again already. Must have one hell of a constitution. On the other hand, this was a real hero. Not a wannabe like myself. And I had absolutely no idea, what I was going to say to him.

He opened his eyes blinking groggily at me, grimacing in pain. Then he blinked rapidly two times. "Elessar...?" He groaned. "What are you doing here?" He pushed away from me, wincing in pain and obviously not very happy to see me. Strange.

"I am not Elessar." I said. Best to give him the bad news right away. "I just look like..." I trailed of. Now wait a minute! I understood what he had said. It was a weird sort of archaic british accent but understandable. he pushed his hand through his hair, groaning again, his whole body going tense with pain. He mumbled some kind of curse under his breath, then looked at me again, frowning.

"Valar, that was no fun..." he grumbled. "What do you mean, you are not yourself?" I was still staring at him in amazement. Finally someone I could understand! Now what should I tell him. Or better ask. "Elessar, damn you! I'm talking to you!" I was yanked back into reality by a hand shaking me none to gently.

"I... errh.. I am not Elessar. I just look like him." I said what I had originally intended to say. "Yeah, sure..." Boromir snorted. "And I am Arwen. What kind of stupid game is this? And why have you followed me? I thought you were so eager to be rid of me?" I had no idea what he was talking about and he clearly had the same thoughts about me. What a wonderful way to start a relationship.

"I know I look like him." I said, trying to sound calm. "But I am not Elessar. Or Aragorn. Or whatever you want to call him. And I have not followed you. I have no idea how I got here. I..." I trailed of, not knowing how to explain where I came from and how I knew so much about him and Aragorn and the whole story. Whatever turn it might have taken in this world.

He looked at me, his eyes narrowing, then suddenly grabbed my chin, holding me in a vise-like grip, turning my head back and force to get a better look at me. I did not try to fight him. Still not letting go, he slowly shook his head. "No, you are not Elessar. You look exactly like him but he would never allow me to do that." He said sounding surprised and pleased at the same time. And then he put his other hand behind my head, drew me down to him and kissed me violently.

I was completely dumbfounded. I didn't even resist, when he pushed my mouth open with his tongue, invading me like a wildfire. Never ever would I have expected this. I had dreamed about Sean doing this but this was not Sean... What the hell!

Without further consideration I kissed him back. I had wanted this so long it didn't really matter if it was Sean or Boromir or whoever. He looked like him, he even smelled like him, he tasted exactly like I had envisioned. So what more was there to ask? This might very well be the only chance I would ever get to kiss the man I had fantasized about for so long.

For a moment our kiss continued, but then he pushed me back. "Nor would he ever have done THAT!" Boromir added, rather breathless and now sounding very amazed. Again he pushed his hair out of his face, this time with a shaky hand. "Valar, who are you?" I was starting to feel very unsure about this whole interaction but I just shrugged, immediately regretting it, for my back hurt like hell. I must have shown my pain, because he sat up now, getting a better look at and realizing I was in a situation not unlike his own.

"Got on their wrong side as well, huh?" he asked. I nodded. "I... my names Viggo and I... oh hell, I don't know how to explain all this... Why did you kiss me?!" Suddenly I just had to know. Was this some sort of strange test or was there more to this. He looked very confused for a moment. "I... I don't know... I always wanted to..." Then his face closed and he let go of my chin, which he had still been holding. "It's none of your business! I don't even know who you are."

"None of my business?!" I blurted without thinking. "How can it be none of my business, when I am being kissed?!" I was very close to slapping him. To raw where my emotions about Sean, even after all the time that had passed since we had worked together. Only a warning voice in my head, telling me it wouldn't be a wise idea to attack a seasoned warrior, who clear was in some kind of emotional turmoil himself, stayed my hand. But I was shaking with barely controlled conflicting emotions.

"So why'd you kiss me back?!" He asked, as angry as I was feeling. "Because..." Yeah, why? Good question. Again my mind stumbled over the whole concept of him being not Sean and so much like Sean at the same time. He was staring at me, obviously not willing to let me escape his question. I closed my eyes and tried to calm myself. I was a civilized being. I had to think clearly and not enrage myself and this probably rather violent man further.

Why was he so angry anyway? 'I always wanted to'. That's what he had said. Hmm. So maybe all those weird little fan-fiction writers were not so wrong about the relationship between Boromir and Aragorn. God praise the Internet... What else had he said? That he thought I had been eager to be rid of him. Or rather that Aragorn had been. So his feelings were not returned...

Dizziness swept over me. This was just to weird. Just absurd, really. "Well?" His voice interrupted my feeling of drowning in my own emotions. I opened my eyes. "Because I am in love with a man who looks just like you and who doesn't love me back." I answered truthfully. He stared at me dumbfounded. If this hadn't been so painful to my heart, I would have laughed. He looked so cute...

"You do...?" He asked slowly. I didn't answer as he was clearly talking more to himself than me. "Well..." "So why did you kiss me?" I interrupted his muddled thoughts. If he was anything like Tolkien had described him it would take him quite a while to come to any conclusion and I didn't feel like waiting.

"I... ehrm..." He smiled sheepishly. "For the same reason I suppose." His words were a shock, although they were exactly what I had expected to hear, hoped to hear maybe. I tried to breath deeply. What kind of cruel joke by the powers that be was this supposed to be? I have read somewhere, that god is an evil cartoonist and I was ready to believe that now.

"Well... okay." I said, sitting back, putting some safe distance between us. "So how come you know of Elessar?" he asked, again eyeing me with distrust. "I don't recall him ever telling me he had a twin..." "I am not his twin." I explained without explaining anything. "So...?" He was not going to drop the issue. How in hell was I going to tell him, that I had read a book about him and played Aragorn in a movie?

"I... erhm.. I heard stories." That would have been a good excuse, had I delivered it a bit more convincingly. Damn Viggo, I thought, you're an actor! Can't you do better than this? Yeah, an actor who has been beaten within an inch of his life, scared to death several times in the course of two or three days and confronted with his deepest longing in the most twisted way imaginable, another voice in my head answered. Can somebody please yell 'Cut' and I go home for the night?

"You are lying." Boromir told me. No? Really? Well, ten points for blonde boy here... This was quickly turning from ridiculous to hilarious. I realized I was beginning to loose it and clamped down on the urge to bang my head against something hard.

I rubbed my face. "You are not going to believe me anyway." I said. "Let's just say I know pretty much about your struggle against Mordor and the quest to destroy the ring..." The next thing I knew was, I was lying on my protesting back, Boromir holding me down with one hand crushing my throat, the other balled to a fist hovering above my face.

"How do you know about that." He hissed. "That is NOT widely known. And don't give me that crap about me not believing you. You'd better talk damn fast or you will never talk again!" I managed a weak groan and he let go of my throat enough to let me breathe. My, he was really strong. Not like Sean at all in that regard... But I had better concentrate on the matter at hand, if I wanted to survive the next couple of minutes.

I was pretty sure, that the destruction of the ring had been common knowledge after it had been achieved. Well, maybe not in this world. So what was I going to tell him now? My mind raced frantically but I couldn't come up with an excuse and he was clearly getting impatient, his finger curling tighter around my throat again.

"I... I have read about your quest. I don't know how to explain this. I am not at home in this world. Where I come from there are stories about your adventures..." That sounded just ridiculous. Great. Now he was going to kill me. At least then it would be over.

He frowned, relaxing his grip again. "You mean you were brought here by magic?" He asked, sounding uncomfortable but not in a killing rage anymore. By magic? Did I mention I don't believe in magic? Well, maybe I should change my mind in that regard. Facts seem to disagree with me...

"I don't know what brought me here." I answered, hoping he might let me live. "But why are there stories about us?" He asked. "How would you know about us?" I had no idea. But it was a good question. Maybe Mr. Tolkien had had a look at this place, too? And maybe this was all not really important right now.

"Will you please let go of me?" I asked, trying not to sound to pathetic and failing. He threw me another distrustful glance but released my throat. "I really have no idea myself, how all this works." I continued to explain, not wanting to anger him again. "I just woke up in this fucking desert and got captured. I didn't even know this was middle-earth until I saw you.." "So how can you recognize me if you have never seen me?" He asked, quite logically for someone who was supposed to be rather thick, by Tolkien's reckoning. Well, he was supposed to be dead as well, so, so much for accuracy.

How was I going to explain what a movie was? "There is a troupe of... actors who play a you and the other people of your fellowship, enacting your adventures." I said. Fuck. If anybody had told me that about myself I would have pointed him towards the next madhouse. Whatever.

He just raised an eyebrow. "And the guy who is playing me looks just like me and you are in love with him." He stated. Hell, now that was fast thinking. Oh Mr. Tolkien, you were so very wrong about this one. "And you then probably play Elessar...?" I only nodded. He rolled off me then, groaning when his abused back connected with the ground, sitting up immediately.

"That would make sense." he grumbled, moving his shoulders slowly, as if he was trying to ease the pain with that. "It's weird but makes some sort of sense." I just stayed on my back, staring at him. He was... not like Sean in many ways. His movements were much more fluid, trained to perfecting by years of fighting, probably. And there was a tiredness in his face that had nothing to do with being whipped.

"So where are we here?" I asked the question that had been burning in my mind since I had realized this was middle-earth. "Harad." He answered. I was fairly sure I had never heard that name before. Damn myself to hell and back. I should have paid better attention at the middle-earth history briefings we had all received during filming. Would have come in handy now. "And where is that?" He looked at me somewhat amused. "South of Gondor." he explained. "Seems you don't know that much..."

"And Elessar is king of Gondor now?" His eyes went dark. "Yes. He is." He sighed wearily. "And a good king I suppose. Have to give him credit for that at least, whatever may be between the two of us." So that much of history was consistent. I wondered if I should ask him, why he had not died of those orc arrows. Better not. Not now, at least.

He stared out of the pen at the square and for the first time since I had recognized him I remembered where I was. He cursed in the language of the slavers. "What was that?" I asked. Again he raised an eyebrow. "You do not speak their tongue?" I shook my head and slowly picked myself of the ground. My back hurt like it had been ripped anew. I had no idea how he could just sit there with blood and dirt covering his fresh wounds and still be so calm and unmoved.

"No loss, really." He commented. "It's not a beautiful language. Why do you speak mine?" Again I shrugged. "Don't know that as well. I'd say it's English..." "Westernis." he corrected absentmindedly. "Curse my temper." He racked his hands through his hair. "Could have avoided that beating easily if they'd not gotten me so damn angry. At least I broke one of those useless necks."

He didn't seem to worried about his situation. Had I been him, I would probably have felt the same. He surely had some bold plan, to get out of this. He was a real hero after all. "So what are you doing here?" I asked curiously. "Shouldn't you be Steward of Gondor and enjoy the peace together with king Elessar?" A derisive snort was his only answer for a while, but when he realized I was still waiting for an answer he turned to look at me.

"Just as unrelenting as our dear king, are you?" He asked, sounding defeated. "Yes, I should be enjoying the peace. But if you know so much about me, you will also know, I am not really a peaceful man. Didn't take me long to get bored after the war was over. And with Elessar constantly around with his beautiful wife and children, reminding me what I could never have, and Faramir married to Eowyn being sooo happy..." He trailed of. "Let's just say I managed to take my clues and leave, before they threw me out." he finished, sounding somewhat disgusted with himself.

"I can't believe they would really have thrown you out!" I heard myself say, before I had time to consider my words. He looked at me, raising an eyebrow as if he wanted to say 'and what would you know about that'. But then he just sighed.

"Maybe Faramir wouldn't have. He is still my brother, after all. But there has been much bad blood between Elessar and me, since he married Arwen. Not about his reign, mind you. I just wish, he would treat me and what was between us as impartial as he treats everybody else. I still think he is ashamed for having cheated on his beautiful elvan maiden, although he always denies that. I just wish Arwen was a little more hateable for having Elessar's heart all to herself. But she doesn't even know, about all this. Another reason, Elessar was glad to see me leave..."

"So there was something between you and Aragorn...?" I asked, blinking in surprise. He blinked back at me. "I thought, you knew that..." he answered, his voice going dangerously low again. I really had a knack of saying the wrong things. "I... erhm... there were rumors about a special relationship between you and Aragorn. But never anything specific."

He relaxed. "Well, there you go." he said, sounding sad. "Now you know, we did have an 'affair'. That's what Elessar calls it nowadays. I actually thought... oh, never mind." He rubbed his face again tiredly. "I don't even know, why I'm telling you this. It's not like we know each other..."

No, I thought, you are not really like the Boromir I have read about. In some aspects, yes, but in others you are very different. And he was not like Sean either. Not because he looked so different or acted different, but because he had kissed me. A strange idea rose to my attention. Maybe I had been brought here, to give me a chance with a man, who looked just like the one I had fallen in love with, but was more inclined to return my feelings. and to give him another chance as well.

Then my reason kicked in again. Why on earth should he love me or even like me? I was nothing like Aragorn. No proud warrior, no wise king, just a very frightened actor. Not a very desirable companion for a man like him, just a burden.

"So what went wrong with your relationship?" he suddenly asked, startling me. "There never even was a 'relationship'." I answered, although it hurt my heart to say it out loud. "I told him that I had fallen in love with him and he said he was very sorry but he did not return that feeling at all. End of story."

"Oh." He said, looking genuinely sorry. "That's really harsh." He scratched his beard thoughtfully. "Although I can not say which I would prefer, never having had Elessar at all or knowing I can never have him again..." He sighed deeply. "Call me an idiot but probably the later. At least I have some pleasant memories."

I nodded and for a while we sat in mutual silence, both staring at the slavers outside our cage. I wondered what he was thinking about. Probably making plans on how to escape and how to kill as many of the slavers as possible in the process.

So he surprised me again, when he asked: "So did your people like our 'adventures'?" I was not sure, if I should answer truthfully. Would I like to hear, that strangers enjoyed my fighting for my very life so much? Probably not. On the other hand I didn't like any people who tried to glimpse into my life. Orli had once told me, that if I didn't like the attention I should have become a hermit. I had told him he was right and he had been disappointed for not being able to rattle me.

"Well?" Boromir asked again. I had lost myself in thought again. By now he must think me a complete nutcase. "Actually, yes, they did. You are all quite famous in our world. They especially like Aragorn and Frodo." Rats! There, I had done it again! Managed to insult him by not thinking first. Curse my mouth! I should stay with writing poetry. That you can burn, before it can get you into trouble.

But Boromir just gave an amused snort. "Same with our world." He said. "They just say that, cause they don't know them personally. Since Elessar has become king he is quite boring and Frodo... let's just say he can be as annoying as... well, I'm sure I don't even have a comparison. Especially since he got married. His children are even worse. At least Sam told me so, when he last came visiting Minas Tirith."

Frodo had gotten married? Shouldn't he have sailed to the West? Obviously Boromir still being alive was not the only thing, having happened differently here. There were a hundred questions burning on my tongue but I didn't dare ask. Not yet at least. It had been to short a while, since Boromir had almost strangled me for mentioning the ring.

But before I could stop it another comment escaped me: "Well, if Elessar has become so boring, maybe you are lucky, not to be with him anymore." Boromir stared at me hard for a long moment and I was sure I had now finally sealed my fate, but then he laughed. "If you phrase it like that, it makes kind of sense." He admitted.

He stretched, wincing a bit from the pain. "I think I will sleep a bit." He announced calmly. "No use trying to get out of here in broad daylight anyway. If somebody comes to buy me, please wake me, so I can break his head." With that he moved to the back of the pen, curled up on his side and was asleep in an instant.

I watched him sleep in silent amazement. He really was not worried at all. Or he was pretending very well. Maybe I could somehow convince him to take me along. Maybe if we traveled together for a while, there would be a chance... I firmly clamped down on that notion. Don't even think about it, I told myself. You will not break your heart again!

The day dragged on without anything happening at all. I alternately watched the Slavers move about in the oppressing heat or Boromir sleep. Neither were very entertaining but at least I could rest my tired body and mind alike. I was trying to come up with a plan of escape, a plan of how to be useful for Boromir. I had a look at the lock of the pen again. My assessment staid the same. It would not be a problem to open it, but I didn't think it would be a problem for Boromir to break it either. It was already close to evening when my own eyes drifted shut as well and I fell into an uneasy slumber.

I was woken by something prodding me carefully. I should have moved back and come up in a fighting position or something as overdramatic as that. Instead I just blinked groggily at the interruption of my sleep. It was Boromir standing next to me, more a dark looming shape than an actually recognizable man in the dark that had fallen while I had slept.

My bones seemed to be made of lead and I didn't feel like moving at all. I just wanted to lay back down and sleep. Preferably forever. But that didn't seem to be an option. At least Boromir didn't think so. When I made no move to sit up, he crouched down next to me. "Well?" he asked in a low voice. "Are you going to lie here forever or are you coming?"

"Coming where?" I asked back, rubbing sleep from my eyes. He gave an amused snort. "I don't know about you but I have had enough of the hospitality of these fine people..." So he wanted to take me along. Wasn't that exactly what I had wished for? Why then was I feeling so completely out of my depth now and just wanted to crawl into some kind of corner and hide? The answer came unbidden from that mean little voice in my head, I had hoped to have silenced. Because you are afraid, it told me gleefully. Because you would rather suffer some more at the hands of the slavers then face something you don't know anything about.

It was infuriating. And right of course. Still it was not enough to give me the strength to move. Boromir had been looking at me while I had been thinking. "You are scared." He concluded. Another ten points for blond boy. He was really good at reading me. Probably had had a lot of practice with Aragorn.

"You really don't have to be scared." he tried to console me. "They are not that great fighters and I don't plan on fighting them at all. Just some quiet sneaking..." Must be wonderful to be so very sure of yourself. Makes life one hell of a lot easier. Still I was scared. Of him almost as much as of the slavers. How could I be sure, he wouldn't decide I was to much of a burden two days into the desert and leave me in the middle of nowhere to die thirst?

He scratches his beard thoughtfully. "I suppose you are not a warrior at all, are you?" he asked, after a while. I shook my head. "Thought so." He commented, obviously not surprised at all. "Well, let me tell you something: I am not going to leave you here. I don't know about the artist in your world but ours tend to behave like women if presented with an armed enemy. So if you insist on behaving like a woman as well, I will treat you like one, beat you unconcious and carry you out of here."

I must have staring at him in shock, for he laughed. "Well, maybe not beat you unconcious..." He amended. "Why do you want to take me along anyway? I will just be a burden to you!" There. I had said it. Now let's see if he could alleviate my fears.

Some emotion I could not clearly identify in the dark flickered across his face. "Let's just say you look to much like Elessar. I would have nightmares for the rest of my life, if I just left you to the mercy of the slavers. And don't worry your head about my problems. If I want to have you along, that is my problem, not yours." What he said sounded sensible enough. And I really did not want him to carry me. That would kill the last bit of pride I had managed to keep up to now. So I got up at last. He actually smiled.

We moved over to the door of the pen and looked outside. The square was deserted. There would certainly be slaves still awake in the other pens, but they would not hinder the flight of other slaves. I reached through the bares of the pen and picked up scrap of metal I had seen lying there during the day, while I had pondered the best way to open the lock. Boromir watched curiously as I pocked around in the lock for a moment and then had it click open.

He shook his head, still smiling. "And you said you were useless..." he mocked me. "By the way, didn't you say you were an actor? Seems my father was right after all: all artists are thieves." I just shrugged. "I always loose my keys." I tried to explain. "You don't happen to always loose your sword, as well?" He asked. "That would be rather convenient now." I needed a moment to understand his joke, but then I grinned back at him. "I'm an actor, remember? I don't even have a sword."

We left the pen, him going ahead. It really was surprisingly easy to slip into one of the small side street. I followed Boromir, trying to be as stealthy as he was and not to think of all the things that could happen to me out here, outside the relative safety of the pen. But he seemed to know exactly where he was going.

The town proved to be much smaller than I would have guessed from the tall building I had seen so far. There were only very few of the old stone buildings and then lots of small huts and tents. "What is this place?" I asked Boromir, when we were hiding in the shadows, waiting for a patrol of armed slavers to pass by. He shrugged. "I am not really sure either. I think it was build by worshippers of Sauron very long ago. But since he has disappeared it seems to fall to ruin faster every year. Or so the people I talked to when I arrived told me."

"How did you get captured anyway?" As he was so ready to hand out information at the moment it wouldn't hurt to take advantage of his mood. He smiled ruefully. "I came here to buy some new supplies. Instead I got drunk with some Harradrim warriors, who were here for the same reason. Then we had a little argument about who was going to pay the bill which turned into a friendly brawl. The keeper of the tavern did not think that funny and called some slaver friends of his, to take all of us captive. Probably would have gotten a share of the price the slavers would have gotten for us..."

Then the patrol was past and we moved on. Soon we had reached the edge of the huts and I could see another big stone building. This one flat and of more recent build. "That's the tavern." Boromir explained. "I want to see if my horse is still in the stable. Would hate to leave her behind. She has carried me from Minas Tirith through half of Harrad. Can't just desert her like that." He had a quick look around. "You better stay here. I'll be back in a minute." And he disappeared into the night.

I hid next to the wall of a crumbling hut and waited, nervously stepping from one foot to the other. To me it seemed a century passed with nothing happening at all. Which should have reassured me, as there would surely have been an alarm had they caught him. Still I felt like all the slavers of the town were zoning in on me.

Finally I saw him emerge from one part of the building, leading a horse by its reign. He came over to me, grinning happily. "Look at that." he said, pointing to the saddle. I noticed there was a pack strapped to it. "Mister Tavern-keeper must have had a busy day. My pack was still next to my saddle. Didn't get around to search it yet. They still have my sword but at least we have a good dagger and my bow now."

He hugged the horse around its neck and it nuzzled him back. "Yeah, I love you too, sweety. May I introduce my friend... Viggo, wasn't it?" I nodded and the horse eyed me curiously. "We will ride her together now, to get away from town. Later one of us can walk. You can ride?" I nodded again. I had two horses myself. Had taken to riding after the filming in New Zealand had been finished.

He led the horse past the stone building, got into the saddle and helped me get behind him. And then - as easy as that - we were on our way out into the desert.

The ride through the desert was strange - to say the least. I was drifting in and out of sleep the whole time, holding on to Boromir, leaning my head against his neck, breathing the scent of his hair and of the dried blood that crusted his back. At first I was worried I might hurt him, but he didn't seem uncomfortable at all, so I just leaned against him, to share the warmth of his body in the chill of the desert night.

I could not remember having felt such a strange kind of contentness in all my life. Maybe you have to experience real danger and fear to know what it feels like to be safe and protected. Or so I wanted to believe. That what ever dangers might await me in middle-earth, Boromir would protect me. I know, sounds childish. But I was very tired and not really sane. Had not been feeling sane ever since I had woken up here in fact.

When the sun started to rise, we reached a rock formation where Boromir called a stop. He got of the horse and led it into the shade of a outcropping rock and helped me down. I was still feeling very tired. He looked at me with so much tenderness it couldn't just be my imagination.

"You need to get a bit of sleep." He told me. I nodded, sitting down against the still cool rock and closed my eyes. I just wanted to drift away but his voice held me back. "Viggo? There is something I need to tell you." I pried my eyes back open and looked at him. He was going all blurry right before my eyes because I couldn't focus anymore. "Yeah?" I managed to mumble.

"When I told you I took you along, because you look like Elessar... that was not really true." He said. I should have panicked. Now he was going to tell me he had realized what a useless thing I was and was going to leave me here. But I just couldn't bother. Sleep seemed so much more important.

"I... I took you along cause I didn't want to miss the chance to... get to know you. This probably sounds totally stupid to you, but I thought, maybe we could... I don't know... try to... oh Valar... I'm no good with words." And then he kissed me again. I was not really sure, if I had fallen asleep already and was just dreaming this. But it felt remarkably real. So I kissed him back again. And it felt so very wonderful. Like my heart was melting after a much to long ice age.

At last he broke the kiss and smiled at me. "Just think about it, when you wake up again, okay?" He said and brushed some strands of hair out of my face. "And now go to sleep. I will watch over you." There were a million things I wanted to say to him right there and then, but my body got the better of me. I just managed a weak smile and then I was out like a switched of light.

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Beryll

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