Warnings: Angst, negatively motivated sexual activity, language

Disclaimer: I don�t know anything about the inner-workings of the LotR casting. I don�t know these people and this did not happen. This isn�t even speculation � it�s just straight-up fiction.

Beta: Jeanette and Robyn. Thanks once again!

Dedication: For Reisling. �The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.� � Carl Jung

Stuart stared at his reflection in revulsion. He hated Aragorn. Age lines covered his face and grey hair sprouted unnaturally from his temples. He looked like the portrait of Dorian Grey personified, bearing all the hardships and soul-born sins of its subject. Even beneath the makeup, Stuart�s face was grim and ugly, his lips set in a hard line and his eyes sharp and accusing. His face and his spirit matched. Both were hideous.

The trailer rocked as Peter entered, forgoing his usual overly cheerful greetings. Instead, he rubbed his beard and wedged himself into the seat beside Stuart. No part of Stuart moved but his sharp and accusing eyes as they slid to the side, perusing Peter.

�David,� Peter said quietly. �Fran has some things to go over with you outside.�

Stuart�s sharp eyes followed David as he left the trailer and closed the door, then they slid icily back to Peter.

�Stuart, we�ve been very happy with your professionalism and the stunt guys tell me you�re great with the sword � �

�Just fucking say it, Peter.�

Peter sighed and met Stuart�s eyes. �I�m going to have to let you go.�

Stuart closed his eyes and felt the anger flooding his insides. At least Peter had the balls to say �I� instead of hiding behind the studio. Peter was still talking, telling Stuart it wasn�t a problem they had with him, merely with his age. Wincing at the tug on his skin, Stuart peeled off the wig and tossed it on the counter. His Dorian Grey reflection looked back at him with grotesque half-flesh outlining its face and smiled with a cold, mirthless laugh. �You could have told me before I got into all this shite.� He stood and grabbed his blue robe. �Do I still need to wear this? Doesn�t matter fuck-all if someone gets my photo now, right?�

�We�ll be using a similar costume, so I�d appreciate � �

�Fine, then. Just asking.� Stuart threw the robe over his shoulders and stepped out of the trailer. Outside, every crewman paused and stopped to look at him.

Apparently, Stuart was the last to know.

Covered in robe and costume, he felt naked. His face flamed hot to be standing in front of them all dressed as Aragorn when they all knew he wasn�t anymore. How pathetic he must appear; the poor Irish sot who thought he could be in Lord of the Rings, the poor, sad actor who thought he could play Aragorn. Poor, poor Stuart. He tugged the robe tighter across his chest and raised his head arrogantly. �Good fucking luck with that bloody blighter in charge. You�ll probably all end up at the bottom of a fucking canyon.� He heard Peter�s footsteps on the trailer stairs behind him. �How many days off schedule is this little fuck-up going to put you, huh, Pete?�

�Not many. The new actor arrives � � Peter cut off his sentence and to Stuart�s left, someone quietly gasped.

�Arrives when?� Stuart asked.

�Tomorrow.�

Stuart laughed and shook his head. �That�s fast. How long have you been looking?�

Peter, like a true director, boldly held Stuart�s stare. �Several weeks now.�

�And this is the first I hear of it. Well done, mate, that�s very fucking courteous. No honor amongst filmmakers, I suppose.� Stuart started for the costume trailer, his hands shaking and wanting to rend his jerkin and tunic into scraps. �Hey, Peter,� he called, turning back a few feet later. �Fuck you, all right?� With that, he stalked off, leaving them behind to whisper.

At his house, he packed his belongings, wondering all the while if this would become the new Aragorn�s home, or if maybe they would decide that this place was too dank for this prize they�d decided was right when he was wrong. After all, the door still squeaked.

The phone jangled on the wall and Stuart ignored it. When the answering machine picked up, he cursed himself for not unhooking the bloody thing.

�Stuey?� Orlando�s voice chimed through, clear and concerned. �Are you there? I just heard, mate. I � Christ, I don�t even know what to say. I�m so fucking pissed off. They said that � �

Stuart lifted the phone. �Can you come over?�

�Ye- yeah, sure, mate,� Orlando stuttered at losing the machine and gaining a human. �I�ll be right there.�

Only minutes after he hung up, Stuart heard the windows in the door vibrate with Orlando�s knock. He pulled the door open. �Hey, mate,� Orlando greeted, words laced with sympathy. Stuart grabbed him and crushed their mouths together. Orlando responded with a surprised mewl and pushed Stuart off him. �Hey, are you okay?� Stuart kissed him again, stabbing his tongue into his warmth and heat. Orlando�s tongue stroked against his as he kissed Stuart back. His arms wrapped around Stuart�s back.

Stuart hummed and pushed Orlando toward the sofa. Hooking his leg around Orlando�s, he unbalanced him, sending Orlando down to the cushions. Before Stuart could lay his body over him, Orlando sat up. �Look, mate, this isn�t why I came here. Can�t we talk first?� Stuart dropped down on the couch beside him and closed his hands over Orlando�s face, sucking his tongue into his mouth. Orlando gripped his wrists, attempting to gently pry them away. �Stuart, Stuart,� he coaxed softly, petting Stuart�s face like a lover. Stuart�s eyes stayed locked on Orlando�s mouth. �I want to talk, okay?� Orlando said. �Can we do that?� Stuart moved in for his mouth again. Orlando leapt to his feet. �Come on, Stuey!�

Stuart grabbed Orlando by the wrists and pulled him down onto his lap. Orlando immediately tried to stand, but Stuart twisted his wrists in warning and Orlando stayed still, pliant, if not responsive, in his arms. Stuart didn�t care. He just wanted to feel that hot body and possess it. He wanted to accomplish one thing he set out to do in this stupid fucking country.

He gripped Orlando�s hips, rubbing his perfect little arse against his groin. His cock tingled, but did not respond. He mouthed against Orlando�s neck, licking at the edge of his hair, and snaked his hands up inside Orlando�s t-shirt. Flat nipples peaked against his palms. He pinched and pulled, tugging the flesh away from Orlando�s body and rolling it between his fingers. Orlando hissed with a mixture of pleasure and pain.

The need to fuck Orlando took over his mind. Orlando writhing, crying out, sweaty, begging, and so hard he hurt. Orlando flat on his back, his legs spread wide. Orlando on his stomach, arse raised in invitation. Orlando on top, dominating him, toying with him, twisting and licking and biting until all coherency left Stuart�s mind. Orlando mounting him, all wicked grins and deep, solid thrusts with that fucking incredible cock. Blue eyes, brown eyes; Orlando had them both and they changed and flickered with each turn of Stuart�s fantasies. Dark brown curls against a white pillowcase, or long, blond fanning out against black. These images touched him somewhere other than his cock; they fed some primal hunger he�d ignored. They felt good and angry and desperate. And they churned; mixed, rolled into one another until they were a kaleidoscope of desires, fragmented and disjointed. He wanted to suck Orlando. He wanted to be sucked. He wanted to fuck Orlando. He wanted to be fucked. Adoring, abusing, loving, hating. They burnt together in such an intense conflagration that it frightened him to feel the heat. With Orlando in his arms, he didn�t know whether to drop to his knees or beat him. He wanted to do both.

Stuart canted his own hips, forcing Orlando�s to tilt, and before Orlando could respond, he slipped his hand down the loose front of his jeans. The body in his arms jolted, but Stuart kept a firm grasp. He kneaded the softened flesh in his hand, the tent of Orlando�s boxers hot against his wrist. With strong fingers, Orlando yanked Stuart�s hand out of his pants. The muscles in his arms jutted and pulsed as he twisted his own wrists violently, wrenching them from Stuart�s grasp, and he turned, his knee coming down hard to pin Stuart�s thighs before they could lock around him. Stuart fought with him. He reached out, trying to regain control over Orlando�s body, but Orlando caught him by the forearms and squeezed in warning. The fingers pressing into Stuart�s arms felt like they could puncture. Stuart turned his arms and grappled at Orlando, trying to lock a hold on him, but Orlando pushed him down, restraining him against the soft cushions. He fixed his grasp, crossing Stuart�s arms across his chest and securing him, immobile, like a body in a coffin. Then, he looked in Stuart�s eyes.

Pinned down as he was, Stuart�s breath huffed out of his nose in the rough rhythm of an animal�s. His chest rose and fell rapidly in a cruel mockery of passionate breathing. Orlando perched over him, the top button of his jeans undone, and Stuart tried to raise his hips, desperately wanting the contact. His cock was soft, but he felt wild arousal through every other part of him as if his soul itself was hard and aching, his emotions engorged with blood and fire. Orlando�s confident, powerful brown eyes met his and instantly, the resolve drained from them. The hard line of his jaw unclenched.

Something in Stuart�s eyes scared him.

In an instant, Orlando let go and ran for the door. �Hold up,� Stuart yelled. He leapt up and chased after him. He caught Orlando�s arm and flung him against the wall. The hanging picture frames shuddered at the impact. �You�re here, right?� Stuart ground his hips forward, feeling instantly that Orlando was not hard, not interested. His stomach lurched sickly, but he kept on. �You came all this way. Let me at least get you off.� There was venom in the offer.

�Back off, mate,� Orlando warned.

Stuart laughed. �Calm down, lad. C�mon, kiss me.� Stuart lunged his face at Orlando�s, but Orlando fought against him, turning away. Disgusted, Stuart stopped and shoved Orlando hard against the wall again. It flashed in his mind that he and Orlando had always been evenly matched in weapons; Orlando could get away if he wanted to. �You are such a bloody pansy.�

�You asked me to come, man!�

�You�re a fucking pansy. Won�t even kiss me now? You were � �

�No, I won�t kiss you now. You�re - �

�You�re a pansy.�

�All right!� Orlando screamed. �I�m a pansy. Can I go?�

Even through his anger, Stuart felt struck by the sheer force in Orlando�s eyes. Orlando held Stuart�s gaze unflinchingly and gave back every ounce of anger and intimidation with which Stuart had attempted to infuse his own. Stuart was hurting him and if Orlando had to, he would hurt back.

Stuart dropped his hold on Orlando�s body. Orlando gruffly pushed him away and strode for the door. It slammed shut a moment later. Stuart gripped one hand in the other and gripped as hard as he could. He closed his eyes. His muscles trembled to hold the flex and a burn started through his shoulders and the tensed tendons of his neck. More hatred spread through him than he�d ever felt before. He tensed every muscle in his body, and kept every last bit of it for himself. Then, numb, he finished packing and prepared to leave.

There were tears when Stuart left. The hobbits cried and hugged him, but Stuart wondered if the tears were really for him, or if they were mourning their own sense of security. If this could happen to him, it could happen to them, and now they knew that they had handed over fifteen months of their lives and careers to someone who could make a mistake this big, who could start this wrong.

Orlando stood at the back of the farewell party, leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest. He looked so grown up and formidable, Stuart felt the stirrings of fear in his stomach, but in Orlando�s eyes there was nothing but sympathy. And disappointment. Irritation overtook the fear in Stuart�s stomach.

Orlando patted him on the back as he gave him an impersonal, masculine hug for the sake of appearances. �Can I ring you?�

�I don�t know where I�m going to be.� Stuart shifted his bags in his hands, refusing to meet Orlando�s eyes. �I�ll get in touch with you.�

Orlando stood in front of him, unmoving, until Stuart impatiently raised his head to look at him. �Don�t just say that,� Orlando said firmly.

As the plane rose from the ground with a bounce, Stuart closed the plastic shutter at his window and stared at the plaid fabric of the seat in front of him. He�d seen as much of New Zealand as he ever wanted to.

Before he�d left, he�d had to meet with the producers and Peter again. They�d politely asked him to agree to an official press release citing �artistic differences� as the reason for his dismissal. Stuart shook his head and closed his eyes, leaning back in his seat.

Of course it would be �artistic differences�. Because it had to be kept secret that this multi-million dollar film miscast its lead. New Line had to protect its fucking investment. But Stuart knew what would happen. People would tell stories, people would make things up. They would say he was difficult and unprofessional. �Artistic differences� would transform into �his fault�. And then in that final meeting after he�d agreed to that bloody joke of an official statement, Peter had informed him that he hadn�t worked long enough to be paid. He gave them two months of his life and all they gave him was the blame.

Staring out at the open, barren land of Australia, Stuart thought maybe his favorite thing about this continent was that it didn�t resemble New Zealand at all; deserts and drought instead of forests and wide, winding rivers. He didn�t doubt that people had expected him to be a gracious loser. Gracious loser, what an asinine concept that was. Why make it easy on the winner? Why smile in the face of defeat? They fucked up, not him. The script wasn�t finished, half of the actors existed in digital bytes that no one knew how to make, and the director had no idea how to spearhead a project so big. But Stuart got the axe and every problem with the film fell on his shoulders. Fuck gracious. He only had anger.

Gossip traveled and since it could travel to the United States and Ireland, as Stuart suspected it had, he was not surprised that it made the short hop from New Zealand to Australia. It was months later and everyone was happy with their new Aragorn. People whispered, but not out of concern for Stuart�s feelings; their whispers were awed, as if they couldn�t believe how the fates had conspired to make Lord of the Rings so expertly cast. Stuart knew how this story would evolve, too. He could already sense it. He would cease to be even a footnote in the Lord of the Rings legend and would instead become greater proof of its magic: Did you know someone else was originally cast as Aragorn? people would say. And this new Aragorn would win their admiration with the story that he started just a day before filming and fit perfectly, like it was destiny. People would look at pictures of Stuart and shake their heads. No, he couldn�t play Aragorn, they would think; he doesn�t look anything like him, they would say, simply because Stuart doesn�t look anything like the man who finally became Aragorn. They�d never get to see Stuart�s Aragorn. He�d never get the chance to show them what he could do. And the fact that he hadn�t played Aragorn would somehow come to mean that he couldn�t.

�There you are.� Stuart jumped at the nearness of the voice and turned. Orlando stepped around the bush, his hands in his jeans pockets. �When I saw smoke coming from this bush, I figured it was either you, or God had something to say. Burning bush, you know?� He smiled lightly at his own joke and shrugged. �Did you want to be left alone?�

�You�re in this country to visit me, right?� Stuart swallowed apprehensively. Orlando looked so different to him now without the curls. He looked like a stranger. A stranger with a Mohawk.

�I am.� Orlando strolled over. �I like how you found the one plant in, like, a twenty mile radius.�

�Found a bench, too.� Stuart nodded toward the vacant spot beside him.

Orlando breezily sat down. He sighed, looking out into the landscape before them. �It�s fucking gorgeous here.�

�It is.� But Stuart�s eyes rested on his own finger tapping rhythmically against his cigarette.

�Can I borrow a fag?�

�Aye, sure.� Stuart immediately dug into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes and his lighter. He handed them over, careful not to let his hand touch Orlando�s. He watched as the lighter illuminated Orlando�s face in hot gold. Still gorgeous, even with the Mohawk.

�The hobbits were wondering where you got to.�

�I heard.� Dimly, Stuart appreciated that Orlando used the on-set endearment �hobbits.� The others hesitated to refer to the film at all, but Orlando knew better than to think him fragile. �I don�t think I�m very good company right now.�

Orlando stared out into the wilds. �Depends on what sort of company a person�s looking for.�

Stuart blinked slowly. He felt that tether of connection again, that kinship, and the breath felt stolen from his lungs at the sudden comfort and security of it. Orlando sat like a monument of the only good Stuart had had in New Zealand. Feeling it again, he could have cried for the loss.

Orlando exhaled a cloud of smoke, seemingly happy to sit in silence if that�s what Stuart wanted. But Stuart wanted to apologize. It was in him now to do so and mean it and know why he was apologizing, but the words wouldn�t rise to his tongue, as if they were too light or too trivial after all he�d done. How the fuck do you explain shite like that? More importantly, how do you forgive it? He and Orlando had had something rare and great, and he�d corrupted it. Worse, he�d infected it and let it rot from the inside out.

�Hey, uh.� Stuart cleared his throat. �How�s the new guy?� He didn�t care about the new guy. What he wanted to know was if Orlando liked the new Aragorn better, like everyone else.

Orlando nodded and let out a breath of grey smoke. �He�s good. Nutty guy; sort of this crazy Bohemian-type.� Stuart could feel the sentence that would have followed � You�d like him � and he was grateful that Orlando didn�t say it. �I miss you, though.�

�You do?� In other circumstances, Stuart might have blushed for how childish and needy he sounded, but right now, he felt too childish and needy to care.

�Of course I do, mate. Are you kidding? Fuck, I miss you like mad.�

�It was the sex, right?� Stuart joked flatly.

�Nah. Well, I mean, yeah, the sex was good; I miss the sex, but...� Orlando shrugged, almost uncomfortably and Stuart wondered if maybe he wasn�t the only one feeling a little childish and needy. �I don�t know. You were the best mate I had over there. The hobbits are great, don�t get me wrong, and Viggo and Bean, they�re cool, but...I don�t know.�

But Stuart did.

Feeling tears rising in his eyes, Stuart hid them by leaning over and wrapping his arm around Orlando, hugging him. He buried his face in Orlando�s shoulder with his cigarette closed between his fingers and kept carefully away from Orlando�s clothes. A hand came to rest lightly on his back and a hard sob formed in his throat. He sniffled and tried to stop the torrent that wanted to flow, the tears lining up to fall.

He was on Orlando�s level. They were the same sort of animal. No one else could ever connect with Orlando the way he did.

Just as quickly as he�d started the embrace, he ended it and returned his body fully to his side of the bench. He crossed his legs and tapped at his cigarette. �Jesus, Orlando, I�m sorry for all the shite I did over there.� The flat plain in front of them blurred through the water in his eyes and he looked up to keep it from spilling. �I�m fucking pissed off at Peter and Mark and all those sodding dickheads, but I shouldn�t have done any of that to you. You�re a good kid � a good man. You didn�t deserve any of that.� Breathing in boldly and banishing the tears, Stuart turned to look at Orlando.

Orlando stared back at him, his face unblinking and expressionless. Then, after a moment, he said, �What�s with the �Orlando�? I think that�s the first time you�ve ever said my name.�

Stuart laughed and swallowed thickly. �Well, it was a formal apology. It just seemed right.�

�I like �ghost� better.�

�I�m sorry, ghost,� Stuart said, his voice low.

Orlando�s face contorted, his eyes softening in sadness, then brightening as he slid over to give Stuart a proper hug. Stuart allowed his eyes to close and even let a tear or two escape from beneath the lids as strong arms closed around him and a firm chest met his. Orlando didn�t have to forgive him; he knew that so well. He felt Orlando�s heart beating. Pulling back from the hug with a self-conscious sniff, he wiped at his eyes as if they itched, though he knew Orlando wouldn�t be fooled.

�Shite, ghost,� he said breathlessly, his heart twisting painfully in his chest. He tried to smile. �What does someone have to do to make you stay mad at them?�

Orlando smiled and shook his head. His eyes shone with a depth that seemed out of place in such a youthful, joyous face. �You don�t want to know.�

He shifted on the bench and threw an arm casually around Stuart�s shoulders. They relaxed against each other and the wooden slats behind them, smoking in silence.

�So what are you going to show us while we�re here?� Orlando asked. �You�re our tour guide, you know.�

�Am I?� Stuart laughed.

As they sat on the bench, illogically placed as though a bus might come roaring through the brush, Stuart did his best to share with Orlando the stories and trivia he�d learned about Australia since arriving. He knew, though, that it didn�t matter what he said or what he did; neither of them cared much about the details; it just felt right to be mates again.

Stuart supposed that he wouldn�t get money or fame now � at least not the sort he�d wanted � and he wasn�t going to have the clout and power he�d hoped for, but sitting with Orlando in the wilds of nowhere, just talking... He figured he�d gotten the best that Lord of the Rings had to offer anyway.