Time is a silver river, swiftly flowing, and a thousand years are but a dream to a wandering soul...
It is the dawn of a new millennium, and we traverse the Hall anew.
Beyond the doors the plinths sweep out, adrift on veils of pearly mist, each with its burden of a
soul. They march out in eerie majesty, into infinity, into legend, into myth.
In this place and time, seven souls concern us, as they did once before. Of the Seven, one Book
glows with the white-hot gold in the centre of a star, searing to the mortal eye. Oldest and
eldest, this soul is approaching its journey's end. Another's glow has acquired a crimson cast,
the hue of artistry, the brand of creativity. Yet another soul floats at the heart of an emerald
haze, remote and beautiful, its psychic potential dormant and denied. And one soul gleams with
a deep sapphire glow, the youngest of the Seven, pulsing in time to the music of the spheres.
The pages turn. A new chapter begins...
~~~~~
The New Zealand Press Association
Wellington, NZ January 20, 2000
Since filming began on October 11, 1999, the many-bodied entity that is the cast and crew of
'The Lord of the Rings' production has traveled the length and breadth of New Zealand, like a
horde of army ants. At the helm of the swarm is filmmaker Peter Jackson, intent on bringing the
much-loved book to life. And at the center of it all is the hobbit, Frodo Baggins (Elijah Wood),
bearer of the One Ring, his servant and good friend Samwise Gamgee (Sean Astin) and a motley
group of fellow travellers: the hobbits Pippin and Merry (Billy Boyd and Dominic Monaghan), the
human ranger Aragorn (Viggo Mortensen), the woodland elf Legolas (Orlando Bloom), the
Gondorian warrior Boromir (Sean Bean), the dwarf Gimli (John Rhys-Davies), and their mentor
and guide, the wizard Gandalf (Ian McKellen). They are - 'The Fellowship of the Ring', and their
journey is just beginning...
~~~~~
Sean Astin stuck the last candle in and surveyed his handiwork critically. Nineteen candles - and
he counted them again, just to be sure. The cake sat in solitary splendour in the middle of the
cafeteria marquee, rimmed by Elijah's favorite strawberries, plump and luscious. Everything was
ready. All he needed now was the birthday boy.
"So - where's Elijah then?" Billy wanted to know.
Sean shrugged, "He's with Pete. He'll be here in a bit."
Dominic looked up from the pie he was demolishing and remarked, "It's funny - how you always
know where he is, Sean. What's your secret, huh?"
"I'm observant?" Sean really didn't like the direction this was taking.
"Bullshit - you weren't even there this morning." Dom tried for a cajoling tone. "Com'on, Sean,
you can tell us - I mean - look, we're the hobbits, right? We're so close, everyone says we're
downright incestuous. So - what did you do - plant a bug on him?"
"Yeah, Astin," Billy put in. "Would come in handy - I'd love to know where Dom disappears of a
night, I would!"
"Wouldn't you -" whatever Dom had been about to say was forgotten when a carrot stick struck
him on the side of his head and slithered down his face. He jerked his head around and stared
about him narrowly. Three pairs of eyes stared back with elaborate innocence, and the next
minute, a full-scale food fight was in progress. Hobbits against humans and elf, as usual, and
the latter were winning, as always. Laughter filled the marquee and overflowed onto the
clearing beyond.
Sean breathed a sigh of relief at the reprieve and moved his chair to guard the cake. Dom's
words had stirred a nest of worms in his mind. Now the worms writhed, strands of unease,
tangling - going nowhere. He didn't know how he knew - he just did. Just like he had known
Elijah when they had first met, in that hotel lobby last August. When he had flown into Sean's
arms, exuberant and joyous, and Sean had been struck dumb; incredulous at the hot surge of
tenderness, at the powerful urge to protect, and at the thought that had come out of the blue. I
know you, it had whispered.
If he had been a more gullible sort, he might have called it déjà vu, but he was Sean; solid,
practical Sean, and he had called it coincidence.
What if some other actor had been hired to play Frodo? He wondered idly. His hands clenched
into fists at the thought and a cold sweat broke out all over him. Some unknown English twit
would've gotten the part - and he would never have known Elijah, never would have been his
Samwise. His heart ached at the very thought. It could've happened; Peter certainly wasn't
infallible. Remember Stuart? Sean's eyes went to Viggo, who sat laughing at the byplay
between Orli, Bean and the hobbit boys, and he smiled involuntarily. No, Pete wasn't infallible,
but God be praised - he was almost inhumanly lucky. Everything had gone his way; New Line was
almost comical in its non-interference, and he had gotten the funding he needed, the cast he
wanted, and the perfect Frodo. If there was a goddess whose forté was happy families, they were
her worshippers. The whole enterprise seemed to have been blessed by all the Fates. If Peter
fell into a cesspit, he'd come up smelling like roses - he was that lucky.
A happy giggle, a flash of brilliant blue, and the birthday boy arrived, with Peter hard on his
hobbity heels. Cries of "Happy birthday, Frodo!" and the equivalent in the liquid Maori tongue
peppered the air. Sean watched him make his way around the tables, watched the faces turn
towards him like flowers to the sun, and saw those faces melt into helpless smiles of affection.
Sean marveled again at their good fortune. If Peter Jackson was the puppet-master, Elijah was
the glue that held the puppets together. He never complained, he never whined, and throughout
the six-day weeks, the sometimes appalling filming conditions, and the early dawn calls, he
never lost his sense of humour, or his unfailing courtesy. If he did lose it, he lost it in private, on
Sean's shoulder. How could others bitch when the Ringbearer didn't? And he was so much fun
to be with too, on-set and off it.
Sean smiled inwardly at his fancies, and watched as the others crowded around Elijah,
presenting him with their gifts. There was a framed sketch from Viggo, books from Ian and John,
CDs from Bean and Billy and a video game from Dom. Orli's gift of a garish t-shirt made him
squint and wince. Elijah accepted them all with laughing thanks, and then he looked up and
their eyes met.
Sean felt a flush warm his face and he got up hurriedly to light the candles on the cake. He'd
gone to Elijah's trailer early this morning after Feet and given him his gift. He'd thought long
and hard about it; what do you give to a guy who's got everything? What could he give that
would mean something more? And what did he want his gift to say, anyway? In the end, he'd
gone to Ngila with an idea and had asked her for help. She'd found a shop that did hand-made
pillows, and he'd commissioned a travel pillow in a sturdy carrying-case. He had chosen a soft,
velvety corduroy in a jewel-toned blue, as near to Elijah's eyes as he and Ngila could find, and
the finished product had an underside of blue-dyed leather and a legend in maroony-brown
embroidery that read 'The Lord of the Rings' in elvish script and the name 'Frodo Baggins.'
"For when you want to take a nap on-set," Sean had said slyly. Elijah's catnaps were fast
becoming the stuff of legend. "Can be dry-cleaned, too."
Elijah's eyes shone with pleasure and he had nuzzled the pillow against his cheek, exclaiming at
the softness of it. Then he'd looked up suddenly and stared at Sean in puzzlement. "Sean," he'd
said slowly. "It smells - of you."
Damn. He had totally forgotten. Sean tried to cover up his guilty start with a quick shrug. He'd
come out of the shower this morning and the pillow had been lying on the dresser. He'd picked
it up for a last look, and something had made him press it to his face; something that had made
his chest tighten and his breath catch; and he had closed his eyes and Jesus. Sean, you are so
fucked up yeah, he'd kissed it - kissed the embroidered name. His aftershave must've gotten on
the pillow then.
"It does?" he had replied innocently. "Well, I did handle it quite a bit. Want me to have it
cleaned for you?"
Elijah had shaken his head and had clutched the pillow to his chest protectively. "No!" he
protested. "I mean - I like it, Sean. It makes me feel - I dunno - safe?"
He had leaned forward then, to wrap his arms around Sean's neck and murmur "thank you"
against his cheek. The warm puff of air against his sensitive skin had made Sean shiver and
he'd turned his head to plant a kiss on the hobbit curls. Elijah had turned too, and the kiss had
fallen awry, landing on the silky skin at the corner of his soft mouth. It had been the mere
whisper of a butterfly's wing, the jolt of a live wire meeting flesh. They'd stared at each other
then, their lips a finger's length away, and it would have been so easy, so simple, to just - begin.
The world took on a crystalline clarity, and all of Sean's life showed in sharp relief. He'd seen it
all, the fork in his path, the maybes and the might-have-beens and he couldn't take it; all his
defensive walls reared up against it. Barriers erected by a lifetime of trying to bring a sense of
order to a life in disarray, of trying to be all things to all people.
He hadn't imagined the answering spark in the cobalt eyes - the startled recognition. Simple to
begin, yeah, but could he stand the inevitable ending? God. No. He really, really didn't think so.
He'd lifted a trembling finger to Elijah's cheek and stroked the soft skin. "You're welcome, Frodo
Baggins." he said unsteadily. "And I can replace the stink anytime. Just you ask."
The dense lashes had swept down, veiling the speaking blue eyes. When they lifted again, those
eyes were soft with understanding. He'd laughed, and punched Sean on the shoulder. "If you
can bottle it, Sean," he'd returned, giggling. "I'll buy it all."
~~~~~
Sean had his face under control by the time Elijah reached the cake. He watched indulgently as
his friend extinguished the candles with one long puff, and stared longingly as he plucked a
strawberry from its nest and licked the icing from it with a darting pink tongue. He held his
breath as the scarlet berry disappeared slowly between lips that rivaled the fruit in luscious hue,
and he felt as though all his being was concentrated in his hungry gaze. Then Elijah shut his
eyes and hummed with pleasure, and Sean felt the vibration go directly to his groin, and the
burgeoning hardness there. God - but the boy was beautiful. Frodo's dark curls suited his
delicate features; the incredible eyes, thick lashes sooty against the ivory skin, the dewy lips, the
youthful body lithe in the hobbit costume. The roaring in his ears heralded the need to breathe,
and Sean took a shuddering breath, realizing belatedly that the tent had fallen silent. Everyone
was watching Elijah too, with varying degrees of appreciation, and there was a tension in the air
- so thick, you could've cut it with the cake knife. Then he turned, a happy grin on his face, and
the air shivered as pent-up breaths were released and the watchers tore their eyes away. The
whole show had only lasted a few seconds, yet Sean felt as though hours had passed and he had
run an uphill mile to boot. Sweat trickled down his spine and he shifted uncomfortably in his
chair.
Sean seldom swore, except in the privacy of his thoughts. He did so now. Fuck, he thought
despairingly. Fuck, and fuck again. He didn't think that he could take eleven more months of
this. Because this was going to last; he knew it with a sick certainty. This unwholesome craving
he had for a co-star ten years his junior - this had all the hallmarks of permanence. Elijah was
woven into the warp and weft of his heart and mind, a vital thread in the pattern of his life. He
couldn't unravel him, even if he wanted to. And he had to deal with it - the constant eerie
awareness, the profound need - because he wasn't alone in this. There was the movie to
consider, and Sam needed Sean whole.
Elijah dropped into the chair beside Sean and decanted his presents onto the table with a sigh.
He hadn't seemed to notice the brief moment of mass voyeurism, but then, for someone who
looked like he did, he was oddly unaware of the effect he had on other people. Sean handed
him a can of diet pop and pulled the slumping figure upright in the chair. Then he moved his
hand to the back of the pale neck and dug his thumb into the knots he found there, kneading
them loose.
"God, Sean, that feels great," Elijah sighed, then glanced at him sideways and smiled. "You
always know what I need, don't you?"
"Now, Mr. Frodo, sir," Sean replied with a Sam grin. "I'm here to do for you, and don't you forget
it. Part of the service, sir, if I may say so."
Dom harrumphed from across the table, where he was trying without success to steal the
strawberry from Billy's slice of cake. "You still haven't answered my question, Seanwise. I won't
forget, y'know."
Billy ignored him and asked Elijah, "What's the schedule for this afternoon, Lij?" They all knew
better than to trust the call sheet pinned up in the make-up trailer every morning.
"We finish up here, then it's back to the studio set to do over some Bree scenes." Elijah
favoured the two with a questioning look. "Pete isn't satisfied with the scale thing. I think he
wants to cut us down to size."
"Chopping off my head will do the trick," Dom muttered peevishly. "Thought we'd get off early
today - seeing as how it's his nibs' birthday and all."
"Dominic, me lad," Billy grinned at him affectionately. "Early or late, the results will be nae
different. You'll have a head start on the drinking whichever way."
Sean wasn't paying any attention to the repartee. Bree, he thought. Shit.
~~~~~
It is the dawn of a new millennium, and we traverse the Hall anew.
Beyond the doors the plinths sweep out, adrift on veils of pearly mist, each with its burden of a
soul. They march out in eerie majesty, into infinity, into legend, into myth.
In this place and time, seven souls concern us, as they did once before. Of the Seven, one Book
glows with the white-hot gold in the centre of a star, searing to the mortal eye. Oldest and
eldest, this soul is approaching its journey's end. Another's glow has acquired a crimson cast,
the hue of artistry, the brand of creativity. Yet another soul floats at the heart of an emerald
haze, remote and beautiful, its psychic potential dormant and denied. And one soul gleams with
a deep sapphire glow, the youngest of the Seven, pulsing in time to the music of the spheres.
The pages turn. A new chapter begins...
~~~~~
The New Zealand Press Association
Wellington, NZ January 20, 2000
Since filming began on October 11, 1999, the many-bodied entity that is the cast and crew of
'The Lord of the Rings' production has traveled the length and breadth of New Zealand, like a
horde of army ants. At the helm of the swarm is filmmaker Peter Jackson, intent on bringing the
much-loved book to life. And at the center of it all is the hobbit, Frodo Baggins (Elijah Wood),
bearer of the One Ring, his servant and good friend Samwise Gamgee (Sean Astin) and a motley
group of fellow travellers: the hobbits Pippin and Merry (Billy Boyd and Dominic Monaghan), the
human ranger Aragorn (Viggo Mortensen), the woodland elf Legolas (Orlando Bloom), the
Gondorian warrior Boromir (Sean Bean), the dwarf Gimli (John Rhys-Davies), and their mentor
and guide, the wizard Gandalf (Ian McKellen). They are - 'The Fellowship of the Ring', and their
journey is just beginning...
~~~~~
Sean Astin stuck the last candle in and surveyed his handiwork critically. Nineteen candles - and
he counted them again, just to be sure. The cake sat in solitary splendour in the middle of the
cafeteria marquee, rimmed by Elijah's favorite strawberries, plump and luscious. Everything was
ready. All he needed now was the birthday boy.
"So - where's Elijah then?" Billy wanted to know.
Sean shrugged, "He's with Pete. He'll be here in a bit."
Dominic looked up from the pie he was demolishing and remarked, "It's funny - how you always
know where he is, Sean. What's your secret, huh?"
"I'm observant?" Sean really didn't like the direction this was taking.
"Bullshit - you weren't even there this morning." Dom tried for a cajoling tone. "Com'on, Sean,
you can tell us - I mean - look, we're the hobbits, right? We're so close, everyone says we're
downright incestuous. So - what did you do - plant a bug on him?"
"Yeah, Astin," Billy put in. "Would come in handy - I'd love to know where Dom disappears of a
night, I would!"
"Wouldn't you -" whatever Dom had been about to say was forgotten when a carrot stick struck
him on the side of his head and slithered down his face. He jerked his head around and stared
about him narrowly. Three pairs of eyes stared back with elaborate innocence, and the next
minute, a full-scale food fight was in progress. Hobbits against humans and elf, as usual, and
the latter were winning, as always. Laughter filled the marquee and overflowed onto the
clearing beyond.
Sean breathed a sigh of relief at the reprieve and moved his chair to guard the cake. Dom's
words had stirred a nest of worms in his mind. Now the worms writhed, strands of unease,
tangling - going nowhere. He didn't know how he knew - he just did. Just like he had known
Elijah when they had first met, in that hotel lobby last August. When he had flown into Sean's
arms, exuberant and joyous, and Sean had been struck dumb; incredulous at the hot surge of
tenderness, at the powerful urge to protect, and at the thought that had come out of the blue. I
know you, it had whispered.
If he had been a more gullible sort, he might have called it déjà vu, but he was Sean; solid,
practical Sean, and he had called it coincidence.
What if some other actor had been hired to play Frodo? He wondered idly. His hands clenched
into fists at the thought and a cold sweat broke out all over him. Some unknown English twit
would've gotten the part - and he would never have known Elijah, never would have been his
Samwise. His heart ached at the very thought. It could've happened; Peter certainly wasn't
infallible. Remember Stuart? Sean's eyes went to Viggo, who sat laughing at the byplay
between Orli, Bean and the hobbit boys, and he smiled involuntarily. No, Pete wasn't infallible,
but God be praised - he was almost inhumanly lucky. Everything had gone his way; New Line was
almost comical in its non-interference, and he had gotten the funding he needed, the cast he
wanted, and the perfect Frodo. If there was a goddess whose forté was happy families, they were
her worshippers. The whole enterprise seemed to have been blessed by all the Fates. If Peter
fell into a cesspit, he'd come up smelling like roses - he was that lucky.
A happy giggle, a flash of brilliant blue, and the birthday boy arrived, with Peter hard on his
hobbity heels. Cries of "Happy birthday, Frodo!" and the equivalent in the liquid Maori tongue
peppered the air. Sean watched him make his way around the tables, watched the faces turn
towards him like flowers to the sun, and saw those faces melt into helpless smiles of affection.
Sean marveled again at their good fortune. If Peter Jackson was the puppet-master, Elijah was
the glue that held the puppets together. He never complained, he never whined, and throughout
the six-day weeks, the sometimes appalling filming conditions, and the early dawn calls, he
never lost his sense of humour, or his unfailing courtesy. If he did lose it, he lost it in private, on
Sean's shoulder. How could others bitch when the Ringbearer didn't? And he was so much fun
to be with too, on-set and off it.
Sean smiled inwardly at his fancies, and watched as the others crowded around Elijah,
presenting him with their gifts. There was a framed sketch from Viggo, books from Ian and John,
CDs from Bean and Billy and a video game from Dom. Orli's gift of a garish t-shirt made him
squint and wince. Elijah accepted them all with laughing thanks, and then he looked up and
their eyes met.
Sean felt a flush warm his face and he got up hurriedly to light the candles on the cake. He'd
gone to Elijah's trailer early this morning after Feet and given him his gift. He'd thought long
and hard about it; what do you give to a guy who's got everything? What could he give that
would mean something more? And what did he want his gift to say, anyway? In the end, he'd
gone to Ngila with an idea and had asked her for help. She'd found a shop that did hand-made
pillows, and he'd commissioned a travel pillow in a sturdy carrying-case. He had chosen a soft,
velvety corduroy in a jewel-toned blue, as near to Elijah's eyes as he and Ngila could find, and
the finished product had an underside of blue-dyed leather and a legend in maroony-brown
embroidery that read 'The Lord of the Rings' in elvish script and the name 'Frodo Baggins.'
"For when you want to take a nap on-set," Sean had said slyly. Elijah's catnaps were fast
becoming the stuff of legend. "Can be dry-cleaned, too."
Elijah's eyes shone with pleasure and he had nuzzled the pillow against his cheek, exclaiming at
the softness of it. Then he'd looked up suddenly and stared at Sean in puzzlement. "Sean," he'd
said slowly. "It smells - of you."
Damn. He had totally forgotten. Sean tried to cover up his guilty start with a quick shrug. He'd
come out of the shower this morning and the pillow had been lying on the dresser. He'd picked
it up for a last look, and something had made him press it to his face; something that had made
his chest tighten and his breath catch; and he had closed his eyes and Jesus. Sean, you are so
fucked up yeah, he'd kissed it - kissed the embroidered name. His aftershave must've gotten on
the pillow then.
"It does?" he had replied innocently. "Well, I did handle it quite a bit. Want me to have it
cleaned for you?"
Elijah had shaken his head and had clutched the pillow to his chest protectively. "No!" he
protested. "I mean - I like it, Sean. It makes me feel - I dunno - safe?"
He had leaned forward then, to wrap his arms around Sean's neck and murmur "thank you"
against his cheek. The warm puff of air against his sensitive skin had made Sean shiver and
he'd turned his head to plant a kiss on the hobbit curls. Elijah had turned too, and the kiss had
fallen awry, landing on the silky skin at the corner of his soft mouth. It had been the mere
whisper of a butterfly's wing, the jolt of a live wire meeting flesh. They'd stared at each other
then, their lips a finger's length away, and it would have been so easy, so simple, to just - begin.
The world took on a crystalline clarity, and all of Sean's life showed in sharp relief. He'd seen it
all, the fork in his path, the maybes and the might-have-beens and he couldn't take it; all his
defensive walls reared up against it. Barriers erected by a lifetime of trying to bring a sense of
order to a life in disarray, of trying to be all things to all people.
He hadn't imagined the answering spark in the cobalt eyes - the startled recognition. Simple to
begin, yeah, but could he stand the inevitable ending? God. No. He really, really didn't think so.
He'd lifted a trembling finger to Elijah's cheek and stroked the soft skin. "You're welcome, Frodo
Baggins." he said unsteadily. "And I can replace the stink anytime. Just you ask."
The dense lashes had swept down, veiling the speaking blue eyes. When they lifted again, those
eyes were soft with understanding. He'd laughed, and punched Sean on the shoulder. "If you
can bottle it, Sean," he'd returned, giggling. "I'll buy it all."
~~~~~
Sean had his face under control by the time Elijah reached the cake. He watched indulgently as
his friend extinguished the candles with one long puff, and stared longingly as he plucked a
strawberry from its nest and licked the icing from it with a darting pink tongue. He held his
breath as the scarlet berry disappeared slowly between lips that rivaled the fruit in luscious hue,
and he felt as though all his being was concentrated in his hungry gaze. Then Elijah shut his
eyes and hummed with pleasure, and Sean felt the vibration go directly to his groin, and the
burgeoning hardness there. God - but the boy was beautiful. Frodo's dark curls suited his
delicate features; the incredible eyes, thick lashes sooty against the ivory skin, the dewy lips, the
youthful body lithe in the hobbit costume. The roaring in his ears heralded the need to breathe,
and Sean took a shuddering breath, realizing belatedly that the tent had fallen silent. Everyone
was watching Elijah too, with varying degrees of appreciation, and there was a tension in the air
- so thick, you could've cut it with the cake knife. Then he turned, a happy grin on his face, and
the air shivered as pent-up breaths were released and the watchers tore their eyes away. The
whole show had only lasted a few seconds, yet Sean felt as though hours had passed and he had
run an uphill mile to boot. Sweat trickled down his spine and he shifted uncomfortably in his
chair.
Sean seldom swore, except in the privacy of his thoughts. He did so now. Fuck, he thought
despairingly. Fuck, and fuck again. He didn't think that he could take eleven more months of
this. Because this was going to last; he knew it with a sick certainty. This unwholesome craving
he had for a co-star ten years his junior - this had all the hallmarks of permanence. Elijah was
woven into the warp and weft of his heart and mind, a vital thread in the pattern of his life. He
couldn't unravel him, even if he wanted to. And he had to deal with it - the constant eerie
awareness, the profound need - because he wasn't alone in this. There was the movie to
consider, and Sam needed Sean whole.
Elijah dropped into the chair beside Sean and decanted his presents onto the table with a sigh.
He hadn't seemed to notice the brief moment of mass voyeurism, but then, for someone who
looked like he did, he was oddly unaware of the effect he had on other people. Sean handed
him a can of diet pop and pulled the slumping figure upright in the chair. Then he moved his
hand to the back of the pale neck and dug his thumb into the knots he found there, kneading
them loose.
"God, Sean, that feels great," Elijah sighed, then glanced at him sideways and smiled. "You
always know what I need, don't you?"
"Now, Mr. Frodo, sir," Sean replied with a Sam grin. "I'm here to do for you, and don't you forget
it. Part of the service, sir, if I may say so."
Dom harrumphed from across the table, where he was trying without success to steal the
strawberry from Billy's slice of cake. "You still haven't answered my question, Seanwise. I won't
forget, y'know."
Billy ignored him and asked Elijah, "What's the schedule for this afternoon, Lij?" They all knew
better than to trust the call sheet pinned up in the make-up trailer every morning.
"We finish up here, then it's back to the studio set to do over some Bree scenes." Elijah
favoured the two with a questioning look. "Pete isn't satisfied with the scale thing. I think he
wants to cut us down to size."
"Chopping off my head will do the trick," Dom muttered peevishly. "Thought we'd get off early
today - seeing as how it's his nibs' birthday and all."
"Dominic, me lad," Billy grinned at him affectionately. "Early or late, the results will be nae
different. You'll have a head start on the drinking whichever way."
Sean wasn't paying any attention to the repartee. Bree, he thought. Shit.
~~~~~
