Title: The Worth of Love
Author: Ylith (CneajnaTsepesh@aol.com)
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Orlando/Sean Orlando/Viggo
Summary: how to explain this fic…Gosford Park meets Count of Monte Cristo…with 
hot man on man sex. Complete and utter AU, naturally.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I am just a silly little girl that loves to write 
about the way things SHOULD be, but life’s a bitch, and I have no idea what the
boy’s sexual orientations are.
Archive: just ask me!!!

Part 21


Dom felt a hand shaking his shoulder and jerked awake. He looked up to see Sean
looking down at him, holding out a piece of bread with some egg on it and a
water skin. The young man accepted the simple breakfast and rubbed his tired 
eyes. Sean patted him on the back before standing. “We should head down soon,
have to make low tide.”

Dom nodded and began to eat his meal. He looked up to watch Marton stretch
before rolling his blanket and putting it in his pack. Sean was examining the
map one last time before carefully folding it and placing it back in his breast
pocket. Dom realized the two men had already eaten and were waiting for him, so
he quickly ate, wiping his hands on his trousers when he had finished. 

“I’m ready,” he said. 

Sean nodded, and turned to Marton, who stood with his hands on his hips, his
lips pursed in expectation. “We go now,” he said. “Or we will be trapped for 
sure, and drown.” The man smirked, as it was not his nature to remain serious.
“And if I am to drown, English, it will be in a bottle of Vodka…not your cold 
ocean.”

Sean could not help the laugh that escaped. “Very well.” He turned to Dom. “You
do not have to come, you can wait here if you prefer…”

Dom bit his lower lip in consideration of this offer. “I want to help you,” he
finally said. “I’ll com, but at the first sign of trouble, I am leaving you in
there.” He grinned at the man to try and hide his fear, and the cover seemed a
good one, as Sean nodded and began to lead them to an area they could climb 
down. It seemed so very convenient that Sean guessed it had been somehow 
quarried by the Lee family to allow easier access to the caverns below. 

Nevertheless, they made careful progress, minding their footing and keeping 
close eye on the level of the water. It was still descending, so they figured 
they had a few good hours before they would have to be safe on top of the cliffs
again. 

Sean was the first to jump down to the sand f the tiny beach. He made a quick 
surveillance of the rocky wall that was usually hidden by water and waves. After
a few minutes, he began to get discouraged, walking quickly back and forth, 
trying to find an opening that should be there. Discouragement turned to anger,
and soon Sean was cursing under his breath, his plots crumbling in his mind and
then the image of Orlando blaring before him, making it impossible to see of 
think of anything else.

“English!” 

Sean whirled his head up the beach to see Marton. The Russian was pointing to 
the rock face before him. Sean was about to grumble that they needed an opening
in the rock, but as he approached with Dom, he saw that the rock folded back,
and that when followed, it was the opening he had been looking for. From the 
front, it just appeared another part of the rock face. 

Sean grabbed Marton’s face between his hands and kissed him hard, making the 
Russian’s eyes widen in shock. He gave Dom as confused look as Sean disappeared
into the rock cavern. “Are all English so…” the man searched or the correct word
in English.

“Enthusiastic?” Dom offered.

“Da,” Marton said, his eyes lighting up.

“I’m not going to kiss you,” Dom said, hoping it was answer enough for the other
man.

Marton laughed heartily and pushed Dom towards the cave entrance before heading
in himself. 

The two men followed Sean, knowing he did not know where he was to go yet
figuring he still knew better than them. The blonde man kept looking to his map
again and again, as though each time he would see something he had missed.
Unfortunately, the map merely showed the location of the caves, but not the 
treasure inside. He finally came to the end of the cavern without a sign of 
anything.

The three of them searched for almost twenty minutes, knowing that they had no 
time to spare and needed to find the money soon before the tide began to set in
again. Dom did not want to discourage Sean, but he knew he had to say something.

“Sean…” he said carefully.

The blonde man whirled to him, looking in quite a state. Dom swallowed hard
before speaking again. “Sean…I don’t think there’s anything here…I think we were
wrong…”

Sean shook his head. “No…Christopher would not have lied to me…”

“Maybe it was taken,” Marton suggested.

Sean just shook his head again. “It’s here…we just have to find it.”

Marton kept careful track of the time on his old pocket watch which he had
brought with him from Russia, making sure they did not stay too long. He watched
Sean pace back and forth across the cavern, shuffling his feet and looking 
around with a hand in his hair. 

Back and forth he shuffled, again and again, the sands and dirt of the cavern 
floors shifting beneath his feet. Marton and Dom kept looking themselves, 
feeling around the walls and dirt floor at the back of the cavern. At this 
point, it was more to appease Sean that in actual hope of finding anything.

Sean kept pacing…a man driven. His footsteps wore down the earth until finally
he made his way to the entrance to check the level of the water.

Dom and Marton both looked up in surprise when Sean tripped on something and 
toppled to the ground, shouting in shock as he fell. Both men got up and ran to
him, checking him to make sure he had not been hurt. Sean brushed them aside and
rose to hs knees, searching the ground he had tripped over. 

Sticking out of the kicked sand was the edge of a wooden storage trunk.

Dom’s eyes widened in shock, and he looked to Marton to see a similar expression
on the Russian’s face. They immediately began to furiously brush the sand away,
revealing more and more of the trunk. Sand flew in all directions as they dug, 
stinging their eyes and filling their mouths but still they went. As soon as the
top and sides were exposed, they looked to the latch. 

It was closed with an old padlock.

Dom chewed the tips of his fingers. “Does anyone know how to pick a lock?” he 
asked quietly.

Marton withdrew a knife from inside his boot. He held the base of the handle in
his meaty hand and slammed the head of it onto the lock, breaking the old metal
with the force of it. Sean and Dom jumped involuntarily at the crack, their eyes
widened in shock before they slowly turned in unison to look at the Russian, who
flipped the knife around in the air and caught it in his palm as though it were
the easiest thing in the world.

“Jesus…” Dom managed to croak. 

Marton realized he was being watched and turned to the two men. His brows 
furrowed in confusion. “What?”

Dom and Sean shook their heads and turned back to the trunk. Dom bit his lip as
Sean grasped the lid and heaved it open.

They all sat in silence as they stared inside it for a good long moment. None of
them could speak, and all sat in a various form of shock. The gold inside the 
trunk winked at them in the low light, sparkling so invitingly that each were 
sure it had to be a mirage of their hopeful minds. But when Dom leaned forward 
with tentative fingers and reached inside, withdrawing a handful of gold coins 
and letting them plop back in the a low chink one…two…three…four…five…they knew
they were not dreaming.

“We’re fucking rich!” Dom shouted, getting to his feet and jumping in glee.

Marton dove into the chest with his hands, searching through and finding not 
only coins, but jewels, and necklaces. “Never have I seen so much wealth!” he
mused in amazement. “Your father told you no lies, you crazy Englishman.”

Sean blessed Christopher with every fiber of his being as he sifted through the
trunk with Marton. Dom fell to his knees beside them, still laughing and trying
to get his own hand in. He placed one palm on the ground beside him to hold his
balance, and his hand slipped in the loose sand, falling slightly. He cried out
when metal scraped his palm, reddening it but not breaking the skin. When he 
looked to see the cause, he found the edge of another trunk. 

He began to laugh breathlessly. “More!” he shouted. “There’s bloody more!”


For the next hour, they uncovered trunk after trunk. By the time they had found
thirty, they remembered that they needed to bring them to the surface before the
next tide. They knew they only had a few hours, so they moved as quickly as
possible.

As the trunks were buried right near the entrance to the cavern, they did not 
have to move them very far to the trail to up the rock face. After making piles
of five, Sean and Marton would carry them up while Dom manages to drag the next
out. With this system they were able to move the trunks fairly quickly. They 
brought up about fifteen trunks before the waters began to rise and left the
rest carefully buried in the cavern. With the money they had, they could buy a
house and set up their identity as an aristocrat and his servants. Once 
everything was settled, they would retrieve the rest in several shipments.

By the time high tide had set in, all three were safely on top of the cliffs 
again with fifteen full trunks of the Lee fortune. They all shared a cup of tea
over a fire and laughed while they ate a simple lunch. They shared stories of 
their pasts openly and happily, speaking of their homes and families with joyful
remembrance and not sorrow. Dom told them of when he had first met Elijah when
he signed on to Lord Lee’s estate. He told them how Lij had come to him first, 
showing him the ways of the house and trying to make him comfortable. The young
brunette had offered Dom a space in his small room to sleep. They had been 
lovers quite soon after, both finally finding the love and support they had 
needed.

Morton was finding this all very interesting. He had never considered love with
a man. It was not anything he had seen before he came to England. He had heard 
of such things, yes, but he had never met anyone who spoke openly of it. He had
to admit he was intrigued…though he would not ever want to commit a sexual act
with either of the men he sat with at the moment. 

They decided that Sean would go to town and find a cart so they could transport
the trunks. Sean knew there was a town close by, and could remember the way. Dom
and Marton were to remain. Marton assured Sean not to worry, as he had his knife
and his rifle. Sean doubted that Marton would have any need for either, as the 
area was not known for being near any main roads. He promised to return as soon
as possible, and he made his way to town.

Sean had not been here for many years. He had been born in Sheffield in the
North but his mother had moved him to the south when he was very young. He still
remembered the road he walked down and a few of the old houses that marked the 
outskirts to the town. He supposed that it would be nice to wander around and 
see if he could find his old house and have a good look at the town, but at that
moment all he cared about was finding a card and moving North.

The town was fairly run down, the differences in class well defined and most of
the people looking fairly poor. This was definitely to Sean’s favor, as he 
guessed he would get whatever he wanted for a few gold coins.

He was right. It took him about an hour in town to find a large and secure cart
used to haul tree trunks to built home, so it could sustain large heavy loads.
It was set outside of a store, and so Sean went inside to inquire over it. The 
store owner was a portly middle aged man in a worn sweater and trousers. He was
reading a book through small bent reading glasses which he looked up over when 
he heard the door open. He slowly folded the book closed and took off the 
glasses. “How may I help you sir?”

“Is that your cart outside?” Sean asked.

“It is…what do you want with it?”

“I want to buy it,” Sean said, removing the gold coins form his pocket and 
placing them on the counter before the man. The man’s eyes widened as he saw the
coins, and he counted them in wonder. “This is quite a large sum to just 
purchase an old cart…what do you intend to use it for?”

Sean straightened his posture, fixing his eyes to make them distant and 
fastening his hands behind his back as he had seen countless aristocrats at Lord
Lee’s house do. “I am here to transfer some belongings of my father. He died 
recently and asked me to collect them and keep them with me. There is quite a 
bit to take and I need more than a carriage to do so.”

The man’s face softened. “Forgive me, I am very sorry for your loss. May I 
inquire as to who your father was?”

“Lord Christopher Lee,” Sean said. He was a little surprised to see the man’s 
eyes widen in recognition. 

“Lord Lee…” he said. “I knew your father. A good man. He traveled here several 
times and I do believe he mentioned that he kept some items here, though he was
always very vague. He was a gracious man…I am most sad to hear of his passing.
My name is Mr. Wilkinson…I own this store. That cart I had made a year or so 
back, thinking I would need it to transport goods and lumber…but this town is so
small I have honestly had no need of it. You are welcome to it.”

“Thank you very much” Sean said, pushing the money forward. “I would still like
you to have this, a friend of my father’s is a friend of mine.”

“Thank you, that is most kind,” Mr. Wilkinson said. “Is there anything else you
require?”

Sean was about to say no before he had an idea. “You wouldn’t happen to have any
clothes, would you? I have been traveling for the past few years, and I confess
I have no proper garments to wear when I reunite with my friends and family 
before the funeral.” Sean knew he should feel bad about lying, but he needed to
set his character just in case anyone were to investigate after him. 

Mr. Wilkinson nodded. “There is a fine tailors here that would be able to outfit
you, sir. His name is Mr. Phoenix…a foreign fellow but tidy in the stitch. All 
of the well to do in these parts go to him for their clothes, and I am sure he 
could make you something presentable in a quick fashion.”

Sean nodded. “Thank you for all your help.”

“My pleasure,” Mr. Wilkinson said with a smile. “It is just down the street, you
will se it marked well. Near it is a stable where I am sure you could find some
goodly horses to tow the cart.”

Sean nodded again in thanks and bid the man good day. 

He walked out of the shop and made his way to the tailors. He found it easy 
enough, and entered the small but well kept shop. He looked around for the 
Phoenix man but did not see him. He walked to the counter and saw a small bell
there. He rang it and waited. 

Sure enough, a man emerged from the back, several pieces of cloth laid across 
his arm. “May I help you?” the dark haired man asked, his accent the sort Sean 
could not quite place. He was an attractive young man, and at first Sean thought
he had to be an apprentice, but for the fact he matched Mr. Wilkinson’s 
description. 

“I am looking for the owner. I need clothes made for me, but I am in a frightful
hurry and have little time to wait.”

“Perfect,” the man said, walking forward to the counter and setting down the 
fabric. “How much time do you have Mr…”

“Lee, Lord Lee.” The name rolled off Sean’s tongue as though he had used it a 
thousand times. Perhaps assuming this identity would be easier than he thought…

“Lord?…forgive me sir, but you do not quite look a lord in your state of dress.”
The man eyed Sean up and down to make his point. 

“Yes, I have been traveling for some time, and have seen no point in keeping 
with fancy dress. I have been called back on account of the death of my father,
and I need something only to wear home to look presentable to my family…”

“Ah…I quite understand sir. I must admit, that though all my work is of good
quality, I must admit that when forced to work under speedy conditions, I am 
better motivated by coin…” The man’s dark eyes twinkled as he spoke, making Sean
smile. The blonde man reached into his shabby coat pocket and withdrew many gold
coins. The dark eyes widened in appraisal.

“I am indeed motivated,” the man said. “Merely tell me what you require.”

Sean smiled again. “I need some proper clothes with which to great my family and
appear my status. Once home again, I can have other clothes made. Have you any 
other jackets for my menservants to wear? They are as bad off as I.”

Mr. Phoenix thought. “I admit I would be pressed for time, but I do believe I 
have a few suits that were ordered and never collected. As they are not made to
fit them, I could sell them to you for a most reasonable price.”

Sean nodded in agreement. “I would appreciate it.”

The man smiled. “I must say your manner is much more…reasonable than any other 
noble I have met.”

Sean paused. “I suppose my years of travel have made me a reasonable man.”

Mr. Phoenix laughed. “Indeed. Follow me, would you? I shall take your 
measurements.”

Sean nodded again and followed the man, removing his jacket and the buttons of 
his shirt. Upon instruction he removed his trousers as well, leaving him in his
underclothes. The tailor fetched his measure tape and note pad and turned back
to the Englishman. He made a sharp intake of breath when he saw the not 
completely healed scar from the bullet wound on Sean’s shoulder. The man flushed
in embarrassment when he was caught staring, and quickly apologized.

“No need to apologize Mr. Phoenix. It is quite an unpleasant wound, an 
unfortunate souvenir from my travels.”

“Please, call me Joaquin,” the man said.

Joaquin took the man’s measurements quickly, marking them in his notepad as he
went. When he was finished, he informed Sean he could put his clothes back on.
Sean did so, watching the obviously experienced tailor running his fingers 
through various fabrics and choosing those he saw fit. 

“There is much I need to do before I depart tonight,” Sean informed in, trying 
to keep the aristocratic air in his voice and manner as he spoke. “Is it 
possible for me to finish my business and return to you this night and fetch my
clothes? I shall bring my manservant and valet to try on your extras as well.”

Joaquin nodded. “That would be fine. Return tonight and they should be done. I 
may need to make a few finishing touches, but you shall be able to leave 
tonight.”

Sean nodded. “Very good. I shall leave you to your work then.”

He left the tailors and continued to look for horses. He found some at the
stables, as Mr. Wilkinson had suggested, and paid for two. He had the man at the
stables hook the steeds to the cart. Once done, he climbed aboard and rode as 
fast as he could back to the shore where his friends were waiting.

Dom and Marton were sitting beside the trunks, Dom fallen asleep with his head
on Marton’s shoulder and the big Russian sitting alert, his gun in his hand. The
man smiled broadly at the sight of Sean on the cart, shaking Dom awake and 
standing to greet the man. He gestured to the trunks as though to assure Sean 
they were all still there. “I see you were lucky,” he said, walking over to Sean
and inspecting the horses. He stroked the black steed’s neck gently, admiring 
the fine animals. 

“I was lucky indeed…I found a tailor as well, he is making clothes for me and 
has extras he shall sell me for you both. I shall have proper clothes made for 
you once we find a home, I promise.”

“Don’t worry,” Dom said, stepping forward and admiring the horses as well. 
“Besides, it is you that has to look the part. We are merely your servants, our
appearance is not so important.”

Sean got down from the cart. “This is true,” he said. “But I want us to remain 
equals. You are my friends, I do not want you to think I find myself above you.”

“Never,” Dom promised, looking to Marton for confirmation. The Russian nodded. 
“Da…it is no matter.”

Sean smiled and pulled them into an embrace. He slapped Dom on the back 
endearingly at the young man’s smile and urged them to help him. “Let’s load the
cart and get to town. We will find a hot meal and leave tonight.”

They loaded the cart with the trunks. They just barely fit the last one on, and
breathed a sigh of relief when the cart tested stable. All three climbed to the
top and rode to town, Marton sitting in the middle and driving the horses. Sean
directed him in the proper directions and soon they were again in the town. They
left the cart in the watchful care of Mr. Wilkinson, paying the man for his 
troubles.

They dined at a restaurant connected with a hotel. They were received with odd
looks at their state of dress, but when Sean presented the money, they were 
quickly let in and attended to. Sean informed the man that Dom and Marton were
his friends, and for that meal they dined as equals, giving all three a taste of
luxury and giving them the feel of what it meant to be noble. 

The meal was good and filling, and they all ate in a comfortable silence, merely
enjoying each other’s company. Dom and Marton both reckoned it was the best meal
they had ever had, and all found it fitting for the night. It was a preview of
what was to come, and a reminder to Sean of what he would be experiencing for
the following months of his plan.

They waited a few hours after their meal to go to the tailors, and found Joaquin
finishing a fine suit jacket. Sean appraised the clothes, finding them to be 
exquisite work for such little time. The man proudly watched Sean survey his 
work, smiling to himself at the approval he saw in the man’s eyes.

“This is fine indeed,” Sean said. “You do careful work.”

“I have much experience for my years,” the dark eyes man explained. “I am 
pleased you approve. Are these men then your man servants?”

Sean nodded. “Dom and Marton…they require shirts, trousers and jackets. Do you 
have these?”

Joaquin looked through his back room for a while before calling out in 
discovery. He came out, his arms loaded with clothes. His eyes slightly widened
as he took in the sheer size of Marton, and hoped he had something to fit him. 

The spare clothes were a little big on Dom, but not sloppily so. The clothes 
were a little tight on Marton, and a little short in the arms and legs, but the
man could move and swore that they would do fine. Joaquin thought that they
served to accentuate his size, and made him a bit more intimidating. 

The clothes for Sean fit him like a glove, despite the fact that he had not been
there for Joaquin to test on. He ran his hands down the fine fabric of the 
waistcoat and overcoat, admiring the deep red velvet of the coat and black 
beneath. The shirt was extremely comfortable and the trousers fit perfectly.

They thanked Joaquin profusely but had to take their leave. The sun was making 
way to set, and they had a long journey before them. Sean remembered that the 
Mortensen Walker Estates were in the North, and he wanted to get there and 
procure a house of his own as soon as possible.



The wedding was a day away. Orlando had sent Miss Hayek two days before to 
purchase the flowers he wanted. He recalled that at his father’s funeral there
had been white roses, so he asked for them. He told Miss Hayek to merely get 
whatever else the florist had available, at which she had given him a slightly 
confused look, but did not question. Orlando had returned to the tailors twice 
for his final fittings, and to try on his wedding clothes. 

Mr. Parker fawned over Orlando every time he saw him, constantly complimenting 
the young man and joking in hopes to see the pretty little thing smile, but he
never succeeded. He had never seen a more unhappy “bride” before in his life. He
had seen arranged marriages, but the young girls in them seemed more indifferent
than unhappy. Orlando looked distant to the flamboyant tailor, as though he 
spent his waking moments buried in his memories, trying to escape the world 
around him. 

Orlando refused to talk about his pending marriage to Viggo. Mr. Parker asked 
him questions and tried to goad him into excitement. He was promised all the 
usual things, wealth, privilege, whatever his heart desired…possessions…things…
even Mr. Parker who seemed so intent to make him happy kept reminding him that 
his life would hold everything but love, whether the man knew it or not. When 
Mr. Parker listed Lord Mortensen’s appealing physical traits, Orlando felt sick.
When the dark haired man pointed out how lucky Orlando was in his match, Orlando
began to cry.

Mr. Parker had silenced himself at the sight of Orlando’s tears, realizing he 
was not going to get anywhere in cheering the boy. He merely did his job and 
made the clothes. When Viggo had collected his lovely fiancé, Mr. Parker had 
informed the man of the youth’s melancholy, and Lord Mortensen had simply 
replied, “He is upset that his family will be unable to attend.”

They had gone through a rehearsal of the ceremony with the priest Father Dafoe.
The man was not like any priest Orlando had met before. It was when Orlando was
daydreaming and Viggo jerked him arm to make him move though, and Father Dafoe 
snapped that he should be treating his future spouse with respect that Orlando 
decided he liked him. The Priest had then gently taken Orlando’s arm and showed
him the path he was to walk.

Father Dafoe asked Orlando who was going to walk him down the aisle, and Orlando
quietly responded that he had no one. When father Dafoe asked what family of his
was attending, he said, “None.”

Father Dafoe gently placed a hand on Orlando’s shoulder and turned to Lord 
Mortensen, signaling him with a finger that he wanted a word. The Priest leaned
in to the Lord and asked, “Do you mean to tell me that that poor boy has not 
only no one to take him down the aisle but that he does not even have any family
attending?”

Viggo shrugged. “I am the only family he needs here. He comes from unfortunate 
origins, and has no social status.”

The man gave Lord Mortensen a look and then folded his arms. “And you want to
remind him of his status on your wedding day by having him completely alone?”

A door opened behind him and all turned to see a very regal looking old man walk
in, posture straight. 

“I heard the most distressing news that my darling cherub had no assistance for
his own wedding.” Sir Ian McKellen said, striding forward to the small group and
stopping just before Orlando, looking into those sad brown pools. “I would be 
honored to walk with him, if only he would have me.”

The yes stayed sad but the bow lips formed a shaky smile of gratitude. “Of 
course I would…” he said, wanting to run to the shelter of the man’s arms. 

Lord Mortensen sneered at Father Dafoe. “There,” he said. “He will not be 
alone.”

The rest of the rehearsal passed quickly, and Orlando was grateful when it was 
over. Ian held Orlando back while everyone left, telling Viggo he wanted a 
moment alone with the boy. As soon as the doors shut, Orlando fell against Ian,
wrapping his arms around the older man and letting loose the sobs he had been 
holding in.

Ian held Orlando gently, letting the young man cry in remorse and gratitude. “I
am so scared Ian…” he whispered. “I am so scared. What if I can’t do it? What if
I can’t make myself move tomorrow?”

“Why are you doing this, Orlando? Did he threaten you? You don’t have to marry
him.” Ian tried to get Orlando to look at him, needing to see the young man’s
eyes. “I know you have no feelings for this man, tell me what is going on?”

Orlando shook his head sadly. “I can’t” he said. “I can’t tell you…it doesn’t 
matter…it wont make it easier…I just have to…”

“But why, Orlando?”

“The others…” Orlando said shakily. “I can’t abandon the others…I can’t leave
them…I wouldn’t be able to leave knowing they would be alone…”

Ian thought he understood. He had found it odd and uncharacteristically 
charitable that Lord Mortensen employed several of Christopher’s servants after
the fire. He realized it was because of Orlando that they had the jobs. “Oh you
foolish, lovely…wonderful boy.” Ian said, shaking Orlando slightly before 
holding him again. “That bastard…”

Ian helped Orlando dry his tears and compose himself. He straightened Orlando’s
shirt and pinched some color into his cheeks. “If this is what you really want…
then tomorrow…I will walk you down the aisle, and you shall marry Mortensen. I 
just want to make sure you understand what exactly you are agreeing to.”

Orlando nodded. “I understand,” he assured the other man. 

Ian nodded sadly and led Orlando to the door. Mortensen was waiting outside with
Davenport, eager to leave. When he saw Orlando he led out a little relieved 
sigh. “Come along my darling. Dinner is waiting at home and I would like to 
speak to you about tomorrow.”

Orlando nodded and turned to Ian. He raised himself up on his toes and kissed
the older man on the cheek, offering him a small smile before turning back to
Mortensen and allowing the man to take his arm to lead him to the carriage.

Once Orlando was inside, Viggo got in behind him and sat across from him so he
could gaze on the young man’s beautiful face during the ride home. 

“Tomorrow, we shall be wed,” the blonde man said, a smug smile on his face. “I
cannot wait for us to finally be joined by the bonds of marriage…and be able to
fully enjoy the fruits of our union.” He leaned forward and ran a hand over 
Orlando’s folded ones, making the young man shudder. 

Their dinner was fairly quiet, but as soon as they were done Viggo started to 
talk of their day, carefully planning it out for Orlando to let him know the 
schedule. 

“At ten Father Dafoe shall arrive and instruct the servants to set up the alter.
I do believe Miss Tyler shall be heading the decorations and the younger 
servants may set the chairs. The guests shall arrive at noon, and the ceremony 
shall be put on at about two. Do not worry about a think, I shall send Farrell
to the tailors with Davenport to pick up your clothes, and I shall wake you in 
the morning when I see fit. You need to nothing but get ready, I shall take care
of everything else.” Mortensen looked to Orlando and furrowed his brows 
slightly. “Are you quite alright, my darling? You look quite piqued.”

“I just…I just have a slight headache,” Orlando said, unable to think of 
anything else to say quickly. “I did not have the best sleep last night.”

“My poor darling, what was wrong?” Viggo asked, pouting out his lips in 
exaggerated worry.

Orlando shook his head. “I just could not sleep.”

He did not sleep that night either, the next day looming on his mind as he lay 
in bed. He found his thoughts again turning to Sean. He hoped that if the man 
could see him he would forgive him, for Orlando would never be able to forgive
himself. 

He knew this would be his last night alone for quite a while. He tried to not 
think of Mortensen’s hands on his body…Mortensen’s lips upon him…Mortensen’s 
cock inside of him. His stomach churned and he worried he would vomit as he 
worried himself. 

At least he had the comfort of Ian being there. He would have at least one 
familiar and caring face that day. The wedding would take an hour or so for the
ceremony, and a few hours for the reception. Viggo had promised a small affair,
and though he did not much trust the man’s word, there was nothing he could do 
about it.

Orlando eventually cried himself to sleep, his mental and physical fatigue 
overtaking his worries and forcing him into a troubled sleep. His dreams were 
filled with images of Sean in the wheat fields, that golden afternoon where they
had first made love. Even in sleep he could feel the heat of the silver ring on
his finger. Viggo had given him an engagement ring, but Orlando would not wear 
it. This vexed Viggo beyond belief, and he made the comment that the ring he had
made for Orlando was much more grand and fitting. Orlando had replied that the 
ring was not for their wedding, and Viggo and gruffly said, “A little unfitting
to wear it, don’t you think?”

The sleep he had was restless and poor. Morning came far too quickly, and the 
sun seemed to taunt Orlando as it garishly shone in his eyes. Childishly trying
to hide from his fate, Orlando withdrew to the far corner of the bed and pulled
the covers over him, trying to block out the light. 

He could hear the sounds of shouts and orders outside, and the sound of a 
commotion from the lower level of the house. He silently prayed for the seconds
to drag, dreading the sound of approaching footsteps at his door. 

They came though, they came as he knew they would and he heard the door open to
admit someone with heavy bit careful footsteps. He closed his eyes but could 
feel the sheet being pulled down over his face and down his back.

“Good morning my darling…” a merry voice said before cool lips touched his 
forehead and nose. “Today is our big day…” Viggo lifted Orlando’s face from the
pillow to kiss his unresponsive lips. “Wake up my love. I am having a delicious
breakfast set to you, and I want you awake to enjoy it…open your eyes now…”

Orlando’s lashes fluttered open and forced himself to look at his husband to be. 

Viggo grinned. “There you are love…wake up…come on.”

The blonde man took Orlando by the upper arms, turning him around and them 
pulling him into a sitting position. He tucked the bedding around the young 
man’s lower body, covering the bare legs from the eyes of anyone that might 
enter the room. “It is bad luck to see your fiancé on the wedding day, but I had
to see you before the madness started. Farrell will help you dress, but if you
have any worries of being alone with him, then I can have Davenport assist you 
as well.”

Orlando shook his head. “Colin will be fine.”

Viggo sighed. “Remember what I have told you, Orlando. You are no longer a 
servant. You are above him now…address him accordingly.”

Orlando nodded and looked down at the bedding. 

Both looked up at the tentative knock at the door and saw a servant girl 
standing with a tray. “I have Mr. Orlando’s breakfast as you requested sir,” she
said tentatively. “Where would you like it?”

“On the bed,” Viggo instructed, standing to leave room for the large tray. He 
waited for the girl to leave before he took the top off of the tray, revealing a
lavish breakfast of porridge with cinnamon sugar and strawberries with eggs and
tea. He told Orlando to eat before kissing him. Viggo then took his leave of the
young man, going to get dressed and order about below. 

Orlando pushed the food from him, having no stomach for it. He stood and went on
shaking legs to the window, looking down over the back of the house where he was
able to see some of the decorations that were being put up as well as the chairs
that were being set. His fingers reached out and touched the cold glass, hoping
that it would all turn into a figment of his imagination. It did not.

Colin arrived a short while after. He was the empty bed and full breakfast tray
before he saw the young man sitting at the window sill, a painful reminder of 
the days he sat in the hospital, looking out the window as though waiting for 
his dead lover to come and claim him. He put down the suit that rested like lead
on his arm and walked to Orlando, setting a slightly trembling hand on the young
man’s shoulder. Orlando placed his own hand over Colin’s, patting it gently. 

“Did you bring the clothes?” he asked softly. 

Colin nodded for he could not find his voice to speak. “Yes,” he finally 
managed.

Orlando looked out the window one last time before he stood. “I think I shall 
have a bath first. Will you stay with me?”

Colin nodded again, his eyes still averted and downcast. He turned and led 
Orlando to the bathroom, gesturing for Orlando to sit as he drew the bathwater.
The young Brit sat on a small couch, silent as he watched Colin test the water
with his fingers, making sure it was of a proper temperature for the beauty’s
fair skin. Colin added some bath oils to the water, and the fragrant scent of 
flowers and lemons drifted up. “I shall wash your hair,” the Irishman said 
quietly. “It has not been kept for several days and could use a cleaning.”

Orlando smiled softly. “Thank you,” he said. After all, he should smell pretty
for the husband who so obviously considered him a wife. He listened to the 
steady fall of water and let it sooth him. He closed his eyes and just listened
to the sound of the water beating against the porcelain walls of the large tub,
echoing in the empty room. 

He opened his eyes when the water was turned off, and saw Colin looking 
distantly at him, as though he was not gazing upon the Orlando before him, but 
the Orlando of the past. The Irishman said nothing but gestured to the tub, 
waiting for Orlando to undress. 

The young man stood and pulled the large night shirt over his head and walked 
naked to the tub. He did not bother easing himself into the hot water, merely 
sitting and not minding the burn against his delicate skin. He sat with his arms
about his knees, suddenly remembering his time in the hospital when Nurse Bates
bathed him. He heard a hand dive into the bath and soon felt warm water trickled
down his back. Orlando enjoyed being babied at certain times, but this was not
one of them. 

Orlando lay down in the tub and let the water flow over his head so he was fully
submerged. It enclosed him, comforting him in its warm embrace. He did not mind
when his lungs started to burn, he was so comfortable…felt so right.

Colin pulled Orlando up by the back of the neck sharply, making the Brit sputter
slightly. Colin did not say anything, but looked at Orlando with such frightened
emotion that Orlando could not even look at him. Instead, he took up a bottle of
something scented and poured it into his hair, rubbing it to a lather before 
leaning back to rinse it. He felt Colin’s hands take hold of the back of his 
neck to keep his nose and mouth above the water. The Irishman ran his fingers 
through the young man’s dark locks to clear away the bathing oil and leave only
glistening clean hair.

Colin did not bother to wait until Orlando stood. He wanted him out of the water
so as soon as the soap was gone from his hair, Colin lifted the young man under
the arms and pulled him up before reaching for a fluffy towel to dry the young 
man. Orlando raised a hand to take the towel, managing a quiet, “I can do it…”
but Colin shook his head and took the towel back from the younger man, running
it over the youth’s slender body with delicate care. He took up a robe that was
kept in the washroom and handed it to Orlando. The young man donned it and 
followed Colin back to the bedroom. 

He dressed silently. Colin sat on the bed and watched him put on his wedding 
clothes to marry another man, his heart hurting. The clothes were beautiful.
Kohl gray pants that flowed about his legs, making them look even longer. The
shirt was made of a rosy pink silk, decorated in the most fine flower print. It
was an elegant shirt, but it was obvious that it had been chosen to make Orlando
look feminine. The black suspenders only accentuated his slenderness, and the 
gray jacket had been custom fit to hug his body perfectly. It was lined in the 
silk rose print, the sleeves longer than a usual men’s jacket and tight about 
his slender arms like a woman’s would be. It was a beautiful outfit indeed, but
also a mockery.

Orlando buttoned the jacket, not bothering to look at himself in the mirror 
before donning his socks and shoes. He then took a towel and began to dry his 
hair. His curls had been allowed to grow back over the many months, and his hair
had always grown fast. He finally was content with it, and let the towel drop. 

Downstairs, the guests had begun to arrive and were taking their seats. There 
were all sorts of conversations going on, all sorts of gossip about the lord and
his servant fiancé. They all spoke of the age difference, and kept asking if 
anyone had seen the boy. Lady Smith was whispering as to what a beauty he was 
and explaining why he was completely wrong for the blonde Lord when she spotted
Ian and abandoned the others. 

“Can you believe this monstrosity?” she asked, gesturing to the décor. “You 
would think the man believed himself a sort of King. And White roses…”

“Fitting as this is most likely Orlando’s funeral,” Ian said. “I cannot believe
the nerve of that man to make this child marry him. That boy was to be married 
to a good man…and Mortensen does not ever wait for the body to cool before he 
proposes.” Ian had never been so upset in his life, and he could barely contain
his anger.

“Ian dear, if you are so put off by the whole matter, then why did you come. I 
am sure there are a whole variety of ailments that could have prevented an old 
man like you from making an appearance…” Lady Smith of course was dressed to the
nines. She may complain about the absurdity of the union but she would be damned
if she would miss the scandalous event of the year.

“Don’t be silly, I had to come. There is no way I would leave that poor creature
to suffer this alone. I have some idea of what he did to make Orlando agree to
marry him, and it just makes me sick.” Ian nodded to another guest as he and 
Maggie walked through the crowd.

“So you give him away…it seems the most natural thing to do Ian,” she said 
sarcastically, abruptly turning them to avoid the Knightley’s and their horrid 
little snipe of a daughter.

Ian sighed. “I know it seems odd…it is really not something I can explain, but I
feel I need to do it. Wait until you see what he is dressing Orlando in…it is 
quite obvious who is to be seen the wife of the relationship…insufferable 
bastard.”

“There was never any doubt as to that, even from those who have never seen the
boy. All he is known for is his incomparable beauty, not often a laudable trait
for a young man.” Maggie’s eyes suddenly lit in recognition. “Ah, there is Mrs.
Dench…she came after all…Judy!”

The former servant and now companion of Lady Smith walked to them, dressed in a
somber outfit of grey cloth and lace. She looked as though she were attending a
funeral as well. Ian greeted her pleasantly, as they had known each other for 
years and through the last few months had become even closer through the old 
woman’s amicable position with Lady Smith. Ian had asked her if she would like
to greet Orlando, but she had said no. She did not think she would be able to 
even stay if she saw the young man. She had decided to distance herself, as 
there was nothing she could do. 

The three tried to avoid the other guests. They could not stomach the talk of 
how lucky Mortensen was to find such a beauty and how fearless he was to treat
the wedding as though it were a proper one. Not all the guests were pleased by
the union, some considered the public display vulgar. Those guests though still
came as it was the social event of the year, and knew better than to deny a man
of such status as Mortensen. As long as he had his shipping company and 
connections as well as the publishing company, as long as he had his money he 
was untouchable.

The guests were ushered into their seats, and Ian parted from Lady Smith and
Mrs. Dench to take his place for the ceremony. He hoped he did not find Orlando 
in a tearful mess, for he knew there was no way he would be able to stop himself
from taking the youth away from Walker Estates and away from Mortensen.

He found Davenport and asked to be directed to Orlando, and the grim valet 
directed him to the back French doors that opened behind the chairs where the
guests were sitting. Ian walked through the doors and through a whole array of
servants putting up finishing touches. He finally saw the familiar spiky hair of
Mr. Farrell and followed him into a sunny piano room off to the side. It was 
there that he found Orlando, looking into a mirror, holding a white rose in his
hand and running his fingers through his dark curls. 

Ian sighed and approached the sad boy. Orlando looked to him in the mirror, 
locking his dark eyes with the old man’ clear blue ones. 

“It’s time, isn’t it?” he asked.


- Sean, Dom, and Marton sat atop the cart and pulled the horses to a stop in 
front of a large glamorous house. The lands were vast and lush. The house was 
large and classically built. There were fountains and a bridge crossing a stream
with a large well kept pond at the front. 

“This is the one,” Sean said. “This is what I need.”

Dom and Marton looked at each other, but the loads of money behind them gave 
them hope that the owner would listen to they claim. -


Ian took Orlando’s arm gently in his own and led him to the door. Orlando 
stopped for a second, before turning to look at Colin. The Irishman was leaning
back against a bookcase, his arms crossed across his chest. He looked away from
the two Brits, focusing on the floor. Orlando gently removed his arm from Ian’s
and quickly crossed the room to Colin. He took the man’s face in his hands and 
tenderly kissed his lips and cheeks, whispering something Ian could not really
hear. Orlando then went back to Ian and took a deep breath before accepting his
arm again.


- An older butler opened the front door and greeted Sean and what appeared to be
his two man servants. He nodded when Sean requested to speak with his employer
and went to go fetch him. - 


The conductor saw the signal from the servant in the back and started leading 
the musicians in the wedding procession music. The sort melody swept across the
open field where the guests were seated and everyone turned to see the French 
Doors open and Lord McKellen lead the young beauty to the white satin isle that
had been laid down on the green grass between the chairs of the guests. Even 
above the music a light murmur of appraisal at the sight of Mortensen’s 
beautiful fiancé clad in his exquisite wedding clothes.

- The Sean sat down before a frail old man who sat in a stuffed chair, a blanket
tucked about his legs. The man looked up at Sean, shaking slightly displaying 
just how weak he truly was. The man looked to Sean with glassy expectant eyes, 
knowing the younger man came with a purpose and allowing the blonde to speak in
his own time. -

Orlando squeezed Ian’s inner arm for assurance before raising his head, refusing
to let all these people intimidate him. He held his head high as he went,
knowing Mortensen would be hoping for a submissive ‘Bride.’ He began to walk,
hoping it was not obvious how shaky his legs felt. He breathed through his nose,
ignoring the whispers of those around him attesting to his lovely appearance and
the one man who said, “At least Mortensen found a boy as close to a woman as
possible in looks.”

The boy felt Ian’s hand on him and let that be his rock. He clutched the rose he
held tightly and finally looked to the end of the isle, approaching all too 
quickly, and into the smirking grey eyes that awaited him. The smile on 
Mortensen’s face was one of a man who had just been informed he won first place
in some kind of competition. Orlando wished he was not so obvious in his 
feelings of he had to be so smug. It made his stomach twist in knots of disgust.

- Sean watched the old man’s face carefully as he explained that he had been 
looking for a place to live and that the estate seemed perfect. He had seen 
nothing on the man’s face when he asked the old man if he was at all willing to
sell the house and grounds.

“You would be well compensated,” Sean said. “I would arrange and care for all
the costs of moving and would aid you in finding another place to live if it 
would be more convenient. I hope you do not take offense to my manner, but I 
have almost no time at present…”

“I am old…” the man said, his voice as frail as his physique. “I spend my days
in this chair…waiting to die.” The man raised a trembling hand and placed it on
the arm rest. “I have no need for this place…you may take it…my only condition 
is that you keep my staff, and any that wish to leave be well compensated. My 
Butler, Mr. Plummer, has served me for over forty-six years. I would have him 
stay here as well…he has no home other than this estate.”

Sean nodded. “All shall be as you request.” -


Viggo watched Orlando approach him. The boy looked absolutely ravishing in the 
clothes that Craig had fashioned for him. They fit him everywhere like a glove,
and despite how wonderful they looked on, Vigo could not wait to strip them from
the young man.

After all his waiting, he was finally allowed to reward himself and taste the 
fruits Orlando had to offer. His eyes wandered all over the slender beauty’s
body, taking in the silken curls piled atop his head that had grown in the 
months at the hospital and weeks following. He saw a rosy touch to Orlando’s 
cheeks, probably embarrassment, but he decided to take it as trepidation; the 
anticipation accompanied with a pure innocent entering the bonds of marriage.

Viggo was almost glad Orlando was not really the untouched beauty he paraded him
to be. He now would have no reason to be gentle with the youth, and was free to
take him as he pleased. Perhaps that blonde servant served some purpose after 
all.

Viggo extended his arm to Orlando, smiling at the young man as the musicians
finished the end phrase of the music. “You look amazing,” he said quietly to 
Orlando as the young man relinquished Ian’s arm and took the arm of the man he 
was about to marry.


- The old man nodded at Sean’s words, coughing slightly before leaning back in 
his chair. “My last request is that you allow me to die here, and when I am gone
to bury me alongside my wife in the woods behind the house.”

Sean nodded again. “I thank you for your generosity, my Lordship,” Sean said. “I
swear to you on my honor that I shall do all you have requested.”

The man nodded. “I need only this room, you are free to the rest of the house. 
Inform Plummer that you shall be moving in and he shall show you to one of the
spare rooms. You may look around and move yourself about as you please, this is
your home now.”

Sean leaned forward and clasped his hand over the old man’s. “Until I have
fulfilled all of your requests in full, this is your home still. I am but a 
guest.” - 


“Dearly beloved…we are gathered here today to witness the union of his Lordship
Viggo Mortensen II to Orlando Bloom of Canterbury…”

Father Dafoe said his rites before the gathered Lords and Ladies, keeping a warm
smile upon his lips as he spoke in hopes to raise the spirits of the beauteous 
Orlando. For someone getting married, the boy was most solemn. 

Mortensen looked most pleased, and kept his smiling eyes on Orlando as the 
priest spoke. It was the most beautiful wedding his had ever overseen. The sun
was shining and the air smelled of fragrant flowers. The couple before him was 
handsome if not controversial, but he would feel better about the union if it 
seemed a bit more consensual. 

He continued speaking, keeping his voice clear and loud for the benefit of all
those around him.

“And do you Lord Viggo Mortensen II, before the eyes of God and your peers, take
Orlando as your lawfully wedded spouse, to have and to hold in sickness and in 
health until death do you part?”

“I do,” Viggo said, his grey eyes focused on Orlando’s dark downcast ones.


- Sean left the room and quickly found Plummer, instructing him to go speak with
his employer as to the new turn of events before taking a look around the great
entry way. An exquisite chandelier hung from the ceiling, sparking in the day 
glow of the room. There were two winding staircases covered in rich crimson rugs
that joined at the top of the next level. This was indeed the finest house he 
had ever seen.

He placed his hands on his pockets and easily strode to the door, walking 
through the open entrance and facing his two comrades. He said nothing to them 
but nodded, his eyes dark with approval. The two men nodded as well, and 
followed him into the house. - 


“And do you Orlando, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love,
honor and obey until death do you part?” Father Dafoe did not approve of the 
wording Lord Mortensen had suggested for the ceremony, but there was not much 
he could do. He looked to the young man and waited for his reply.

Orlando’s eyes were glassy with tears. He opened his mouth but no sound came 
out. Finally, he was able to say, “I do,” in no more than a whisper.

“Now I must ask that any that oppose this union speak now, or forever hold your
peace.” Father Dafoe swore he saw Orlando’s breath catch in desperate hope, as
though he were expecting someone, but no one spoke.

“Then By the power vested in me I pronounce you both legally wet in the eyes of
God.”


- Sean watched from his new bedroom window as Marton directed their new servants
as they brought the trunks of gold and jewels into the house. His eyes carefully
fixed on the dark bearers of the means of his revenge. - 


“You may now kiss to seal your union,” Father Dafoe said.


- Sean turned from the window and back into his room. He reached into his jacket
and pulled out the carefully folded paper, tenderly opening it. - 


Mortensen reached behind Orlando’s neck and pulled him into a heated kiss, 
claiming the young man’s lips as a grand spectacle before all who attended. 
Orlando almost whimpered at the ferocity of it, fighting back tears as the man’s
tongue demanded entry to his honey mouth.


- Sean opened the paper and gazed at the image before him, his heart warming as
he saw it. He opened his mouth and spoke one whispered work to the empty room. - 


Mortensen finally pulled away and curled his fingers in Orlando’s silken hair. 
“At last you are mine.”


- “Orlando.” -