FIC: Average 4/6

[lobelia321]

TITLE: Average
PART: 4/6
AUTHOR: Lobelia <lobelia321@aol.com>
WEBSITE: http://www.geocities.com/lobelia321/
PAIRING: Viggo Mortensen / Kiran Shah
RATING: R
SUMMARY: Viggo is adrift. Kiran is in love.
FEEDBACK: Yes, please, I would love feedback! Anything, even if it's only one line, one word!
CONTENT/WARNINGS: RPS. Middle-aged dwarf.
CATEGORY: Weird pairings. Hobbit stand-in.
SPOILERS: *The Two Towers*, *The Return of the King*
ARCHIVE RIGHTS: Beyond the Fellowship. My niche. Anyone else, please just ask.
DISCLAIMERS: This is a work of amateur fiction and poetry pastiche. I do not know these people. I am not making money. The events described in this story did not happen.
AUTHOR'S NOTES, THANK YOUs and DEDICATION: See Part 0/6.

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7 *Viggo*

I've been feeling too maudlin to write anything in this notebook for some time now. I know I shouldn't have given in to those overwrought thoughts but it is difficult with my mind so fragmented. It is difficult to keep on being focused and centred on the whole. I should never have read that review. Why did I?

But slowly things are improving. Slowly, I am beginning to get some sort of a grip. And that's due to... Well, in the first instance, I think it is due to my becoming connected with the place a little more.

We have started outdoor work, and that helps enormously. To work under the open sky, breeze in my hair, and to work with horses, strong supple muscles between my thighs -- that is already so much better. It is making me know my character more intimately, too. He is, at least in Strider-mode, very much an outdoors person. He needs the open horizon and the freedom of the sky. He crushes leaves, he brushes his fingers over freshly-turned earth, he licks stray raindrops from spiderwebs.

I went for a long walk yesterday, in my maroon mantle and my boots. I am starting to recognise the strange, topsy-turvy plant life of this country. I don't know the names of any of the trees or ferns but that doesn't matter. Names don't matter; it's things that matter. I learn to get to know them not by naming them but by touching their bark and inhaling their pungent aroma. I went walking in the hills behind Wellington. Passers-by must have looked at me oddly, I'm sure,what with me wearing my tunic and my sword, but I didn't really notice anybody; I was too absorbed in my walk.

Perhaps this is the beginning of a healing process. Perhaps, step by step, the world will come to reclaim me. First, the mute world of plants; next, the alert world of animals; and finally, oh finally, the love of mankind.

Step by step.

Anyway, after my walk in the hill I came back drenched (because it started to rain while I was up there and I'd brought no raingear) and stinking (because I stepped into dog turds). But I can't be too upset; even the dog turds are earthy, healthy signs of the outdoor world, and the rain felt good on my nose and my nape. It felt alive.

Alive is also what I feel when I'm around the horses. That's where we were all day today. I'm exhausted, I reek of horse, I got kicked by that vicious bay, but my body, at least, feels good. It feels worked. It feels pummelled. All the knots and tight spots have been stretched and unwound.

I still feel untethered and adrift in my mind, but my body feels grounded. And that's something. That's a start, surely?

And another thing has happened. An incredible thing.

After feeling so terrible, so terribly terrible, after hardly eating, after falling into drug-induced stupours every night because of this stupid review -- which I have now torn out of this notebook and torn into shreds and fed into the gas hob of my kitchen stove -- after all that, this incredible thing has happened to me.

It is difficult to put into words, but it has to do with a person, a human, and a reaching-out into the world, or is it a reaching-out of the world to me?

I feel strangely blessed.

It started-- no, it didn't start then but I first noticed it then. I first noticed it when I was sitting on my own, about ten days ago now, during one of the shooting breaks, reading and re-reading those terrible words, and feeling those terrible words poison my heart and my soul over and over again, and draining the hope, and I kept thinking 'average, average.' At first, I didn't even hear anybody coming over or notice anybody sitting down beside me. I was that absorbed and obsessed with myself. Then I suddenly felt a finger on my sleeve. I must have started; I certainly felt startled and I must have looked it, because the person said, "I am so sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

It was then that I realised who it was. It was the voice. That lovely, fluid accent. And that rolling, scratchy voice. So I looked up, and of course it was him.

Kiran.

I like writing that name so much I will just try it out once more.

Kiran.

He is one of the hobbit body-doubles. We do a lot of our riding together. He is Indian. As in India-Indian, not as in American-Indian. He's four foot one (he told me that). And he's about my age. He's the body-double for Merry. So he gets to ride with me on my horse. A lot. At least, until we do the fighting scenes. Merry fights on his own steed.

When he touched me, I was so shocked; so shocked to be surprised out of my thoughts that I dropped my notebook. He picked it up and handed it back to me, and then he asked, "What are you reading?"

I looked at him some more, and of course I could never tell anybody what I was reading, what was tormenting my soul. I looked and looked. I looked at those brown, brown eyes, and I looked at that face, the hobbit hood down around his shoulders, mask off, hobbit curls hanging into his forehead. I looked at that smooth square forehead and into those eyes, and the first thing that struck me, really looking at Kiran, were the laughter lines going from the corner of his eyes towards his ears. They say that everyone's responsible for their own face after the age of thirty, and if that is true then Kiran must be one hell of a nice man because his face is so nice.

And then I surprised myself. Because I told him. I told him what I had thought I could never reveal; I told him about the review. I even handed it to him. I had to because when I tried to read him passages, my voice failed and I couldn't go on.

Anyway, Kiran took my book in his hands, with the review pasted in, and he read it through, with me at his side, feeling faint and sick. When he had finished, he shut the book, and then he turned to face me and said, "Why do you keep this?" I stuttered something or other, and then he went on and said, "This is not about you. This is just some arty chappie's opinion, right? I can't even understand most of what he is going on about."

I find it hard to put into words what I felt at that moment. Relief and gratitude flooded my mind. It was the simple kindness of the words, the reaching-out. And the truth of the words, too. Yes, the wisdom of the words. 'This is not about you'-- and I had taken it all to be about me. That whole review had clawed its way straight into my chest, grabbed my heart and wrenched it out of shape. And Kiran reached in and twisted it right back again.

I first met Kiran in the stables, weeks ago. He was there checking out the horses, same as me. It turns out he is a rather accomplished rodeo rider of sorts. I think that's what he was saying. I don't always find it easy to follow his accent. He's been ragging me about the riding, was I up to it and so on. It's all good-natured fun. And he really is surprising on a horse. I got into the habit of lifting him up onto it, not that he needs any help. He's not as light as one might think. He feels quite... He feels very muscular. Which is odd. I shouldn't find it odd; of course, I shouldn't. He's a grown man, after all. It's just, because he's so short... and then, when he's wearing the hobbit costume and the hobbit mask... it's just difficult to think of him as a man. Which he is.

A man.

So I lift him up a lot, and today I did the same, and then, at one point, he sort of grinned at me still standing on the ground, and he dug his heels in, and he was off! It was an astounding sight, the tiny man on the back of this huge horse. But he had it under full control. No problems. In fact, he's a much better rider than I am. He should be controlling that horse when we're shooting, not me. He got a ticking-off, too, for wasting time. But he just laughed it off. It seems he's in some sort of competition with one of the other stand-ins, Brett I think, the one who doubles for John as Gimli. So he and Brett and John were standing around, laughing a lot, and I felt a little left out.

Which was interesting. It was interesting to feel left out. It was like an inkling. Like a tiny rootlet of the world that had insinuated itself into my mind. That I should even care.

So I felt all right after that. Another step in the healing process. Slowly, slowly.

Except I don't rightly know why I felt left out. Why I cared. I left the set early again; I didn't go into costume but left, taking my maroon coat with me. On the way off set, I turned around and looked and looked but I couldn't see Kiran anywhere. Dozens of people milling about, lots of the doubles, too, but no Kiran.

I'd like to talk to him again. I'd like to talk to him about horseriding. And about New Zealand falling off the bottom of our Earth. And about us, all of us, spinning along on this lonely planet of ours.

I know it's strange. I try not to think about the strangeness of it, about him being short and all that. It shouldn't make a difference, after all, right? We are all human beings, and we are all working together on this movie. And sitting down, as we were, it didn't make such a big difference, anyway. I also keep remembering how I carry him on set. How Aragorn is always carrying a hobbit, and that hobbit tends to be Merry, and Merry is Kiran.

I shiver all over, just thinking about carrying Kiran. I still don't know why.

It was then, before we had even started talking, before I had even answered Kiran's question, that I felt a tiny, twitching, tinkling feeling of becoming re-connected. Kiran was doing that. Kiran is re-connecting me with the world around me; he is hacking small holes and incisions into the armour that separates me from the outside. He is chipping away, and he doesn't even know he is doing it. After my first inklings and then the terrible, terrible set-back and the black hole I had retreated into... Now to be feeling the tug of communication again, is a wonder.

It is quite incredible.

I feel transported. I feel blessed. I feel humbled.

I didn't have my nightmare last night. And ate some fruit today, not only yoghurt.

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8 *Kiran*

Brother-dear

It's been at least two weeks since my last letter and I just want to write one or two things, following on from our phone conversation last night. Dada, I know you only mean to do what's best but this mad plan is not what is best. I assure you it isn't. It would be lovely to see you here but it is much better if you come during one of our shooting holidays, not now at this very busy time and not in such precipitate fashion. You say it is only to visit the Dunedin relatives but you haven't seen them for years; in fact, I don't think you've ever seen them, except for that wizened old great-uncle or whoever he is, who apparently dandled us on his knees back in Kenya. Believe me, I know about the Dunedin clan, and the only reason I haven't yet visited them is because our schedule is fairly much non-stop right now and because Dunedin is at the south end of the South Island, and that is miles and miles away.

I also know that seeing the Dunedin people is not your real reason but that you really want to check up on how I am doing. You kept asking me on the phone, and you thought that my evasive answers were hiding something, some dreadful abuse or racism or whatnot, but can I just assure you again and a thousand times that this is not so! This is not like that time in Tunisia. And anyway, that was decades ago and I was too young to understand what was really going on.

So, all right, I will tell you why I was being evasive. I didn't really want to divulge the reason and you must promise not to tell anyone else, even Chaitan. Please!

It is not a very complicated reason. I'm not quite sure how to put this. It is just that I am becoming involved with someone.

And really, that is all I want to say about that. It is a private matter, really. I may tell you a bit more about it later but not over the phone. It is likely that it will all come to nothing, anyway. It is just one of those on-set things, and that is fine by me.

And dada, that is all I want to say about that right now. Please don't go pestering me with more phone calls at all sorts of inappropriate hours of the early morning. In fact, from now on I will unplug my phone before I go to bed!

Anyway, now for some other news. Work goes on and, as I have mentioned, it is a very busy time. I am now working very closely with Dominic, you know, the actor I am doubling for. Everyone around here calls him Dom for short. He has got used to me now, and we do have some laughs together. The other day, I was imitating the way he walks, and we were all in stitches, including Dom. He then started doing various movements to see if I could mimic them, and after that I told him that it was now his turn and that he had to imitate me. I started out by just doing a bit of walking and swaggering and so on, and he was really rather good at being my body-double, I have to say! If I am ever called upon to play an average-sized person, remind me to ask for Dom as my stand-in, haha! But then I couldn't resist doing a cartwheel and a back-flip and a bit of walking on my hands. Of course, he couldn't follow that at all, and we fell about laughing. This was at lunchtime, in one of those tents where we have our mid-day meal.

I have also gone out for a few drinks in the evenings with Viggo, you know, the actor who also writes poems. It has been rather interesting for me to talk to somebody else about poetry; I don't get much opportunity to do that on most sets. Especially with the stunt lot, they are all mostly into action sports and suchlike. Anyway, I have been reading him a few of my poems; it really has been very gratifying. I would like to read his poems as well but he has been in a sort of depression or something, he says, and hasn't written anything recently.

You mentioned *Kuch Kuch Hota Hai* to me over the phone. Well, it was showing here at some art-house cinema late last Friday, so a group of us trooped down there to see it. Who was there? Well, the desis, of course, not that there are that many on set, just some of the other scale-doubles, Bhoja (I mentioned him to you on the phone, he does Sam the hobbit), Indravadam, and Fon came along also, although she is from the Philippines, of course. And we took Brett Beattie who does Gimli the dwarf, he really is another very nice fellow. I don't know what he made of the movie! He had never seen a Bollywood film before. Remember when we saw it together, last year in London? I enjoyed it enormously again. Kajol is just wonderful in it; she must be the most beautiful lady on the planet. And Salman Khan is a true movie hero of the old school! We were all humming the tunes as we came out. I would love to work on one of those films one day but I hear that the pay is not very good.

I think the other patrons of the cinema didn't quite know what to make of us! A whole gang of little people storming their movie theatre!

John has been over here again a few times, by the way, for more tincture-application. I want to say thank you again for sending that stuff. Perhaps you could send a replenishment?

I also enclose, finally, those photos I promised you plus some more recent ones. I have labelled them on the back. The big guy in the photos is John, of course. Sorry, there is also a wobbly one; it is a bit out of focus because I was sitting on John's shoulders at the time when I took the picture. But I am sending it anyway because I wanted you to see what the harbour of Wellington looks like seen from above the city. The stripe of green on the horizon is the South Island. It is very beautiful; I hope the photos give you some idea.

I would love to send you photos of the set but, as you know, we are not allowed even to take any, let alone send them to friends and relatives. That, too, was in my contract! There is a professional photographer who lurks around the place; he is on the 'Making of...' production team. So, no doubt, you will soon see me in all my splendour as Merry!

And please don't get into a state about that other thing I mentioned.

Yours affectionately, as ever,

K.

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TBC