The Musician

Chapter 8 - Of Flutes and Frenchwomen

Orlando Bloom, Actor extroidinaire and Hollywood's current 'It' boy (much to his never ending annoyance), was finally going to do something classy and different and he was going to have fun doing it! He was going to the symphony. Not to say that he hadn't seen professional musicians play before. Oh, he had, he had. But, he had never seen the London Symphony play opening night with cutecute 3rd chair violinist play. Nope, never. And neither had Ian.

Gandalf had been sleeping actually, at 7 at night when Orli had called. The 'wizard' was being a grouch. "Young man, I'll have you know that this is my first night off in three weeks from the theatre and I am exhausted. I do not intend to leave my house unless you have a pretty damned good offer for me."

"How does a 3rd row seats for the Symphony sound to you?"

Gandalf had been impressed with the shy little elf that never seemed to get to do anything fun anymore. And, Gandalf had said yes and so, the little elf was late picking him up. When Orlando showed up very late, Ian was not surprised at all. This was a typical Orlando behavioral pattern. He distinctly remembered saying once about himself, "Take the time that I'm supposed to arrive, add ten minutes to it and I'll be there five minutes later." This was good news foe goe good director Jackson because he learned to alter every single one of Orlando's schedules without any serious mishap.

After waiting about three second between knocking a second time, the door was swung open to reveal the side of Ian that Orlando saw too little of. The dressed up, going to the Oscars Ian. The thought of the Oscars brought a scowl to the young man's face, but the hug that his friend gave him lightened his mood. "Orlando my boy. Do come in!"

Orli smiled before hugging the man in front of him back. "It's been a long time Ian. Like what, 3 weeks?"

"More like 3 days Orlando. You're slipping." Ian handed him a cup of tea, which he accepted gratefully before sinking into the comfy couch in the living room. "Make yourself at home, I need to go put on my bow tie."

"Thanks, I will." Chuckling to himself, Orlando looked around the room, certain that nothing had changed in Ian's house at all, with the exception of the Oscar that had not been there for more than nine or ten months. He rose and crossed the room to the display shelf above the fireplace. The award was right at face level. Orlando ran his fingers over the cool metal face. He would have picked it up but Ian interrupted him from behind.

"Don't worry about that. You'll get plenty of Oscars in your lifetime, I'm sure."

"Yeah, sure I will." They both mentally checked over each other, making sure that ties were proper, shirts were tucked in, and shoes were shined.

"We look like a couple of those old dancers in a Fred Astair movie Gandalf." The older man burst into laughter, ushering Orlando out of the house and to their vehicle.

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She was nervous. Oh Lord, she should not be nervous. That was one of her biggest weaknesses and it was terrible. Her friend, a viola named Ben, put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "You're going to do fine Hannah. There is no way you could mess up. You know this like the back of your hand."

"Thanks Ben, that makes me feel so much better." Her friendly jab made the man laugh and he patted her shoulder before moving off to tune and ready his instrument.

It wasn't the fact that it was opening night or the fact that it was only the second or third time she had actually played the music as the third violin. No, it was the fact that Orlando would be out in the audience, watching her, and that scared her shitless.

Taking one last deep breath, she unpacked the loaned instrument, which had gained the name Mel after her sweet, sweet neighbor Melfina Lange. It was an infinitely sweet instrument and Hannah found herself being perfectly in tune so much more often than with her old instrument. It was a real piece of work. And she was grateful to be so lucky.

The conductor called the group to order and had them assemble in a back practice room. Taking their seats, they played a few runs from the music. Hannah might have been nervous on the inside, but she was all cool business on the outside. She hit every note with a perfection that one gained after twenty years on an instrument.

Warm-up was over soon enough and it seemed like mere seconds passed before the performers were allowed to settle on stage, to the clapping of the audience. Making an unprofessional move, Hannah's eyes drifted out over the people seated before the Symphony. She tried to find Orlando, but she wasn't exactly sure where the seats were. The conductor called the group's attention to the front and a strained silence stretched itself across the whole body of people. And then, the concert began.

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Orlando squirmed in his tuxedo. Why in the holy hell had he even bought the thing in the first place? It was nothing but a pain in his ass. He tugged at the collar, waiting for the music to start. The Symphony wasn't even on stage yet.

He was silent next to Ian, who had found a common theatre acquaintance on his right. Those two wouldn't be quiet. That was the problem with taking Ian anywhere in London. Ian knew everyone and knew about everything. He was like a bad 19th century gossip. Then, finally, the performers came out and the audience erupted in clapping. It was like a tempest of noise all around him for this one group. His eyes found Hannah almost immediately and he smiled. Her hair, her beautiful hair, had been piled on her head in a type of bun. The black dress, meant for a professional appearance, was a simple thing, and yet Orli found himself loving the of of it on her. He found himself loving the look of her.

The thought was a shock to him and he almost groaned at the idea of love. He didn't believe in love.

The conductor's arms rose and Orlando could swear he hear the whole audience take a breath with the musicians. And then, his arms fell and the room was filled with the slow, sweet sounds of the love theme from Lord of the Rings. He paled. He felt Ian shift next to him and risked a glance at the older man. Ian for his part was quite amused and settled down for a nice concert.

Why hadn't Hannah told him that the Symphony was performing from Fellowship? Oh gods he was sick of this song. Nothing but this stupid soundtrack at least twenty times all over the world. He knew every note, every swell, every repeat. And then, something that had been stuck in the back of his head surfaced. The London Symphony was the orchestra that recorded the whole thing in the first place.

They had been allowed to see parts of the movie, parts with Legolas, before it had been released. And the actors had been there; had met with the musicians. It had been a huge deal and no one in their right mind could have forgotten the fact that he, Orlando Bloom up and coming hottie, had taken a fall off the stage on accident and had landed on a flute player in the first row.

Now, how the hell had that little mishap slipped his mind? He was such an idiot. Hannah had probably known that it was him all along. It made sense. The feeling that she wasn't surprised to really find out that it had been Orlando who had saved her life.

All these thoughts whirled around in Orlando's head. His conscious was really starting to piss him off. He scowled again. Why the hell did he ever both with women. Now a days, a woman was interested in one of three things, his VIP pass to some of the best places to dine, wine, and dance the world over, his bank account, which was steadily getting larger, or his other half, an elf name Legolas who never got the hint to stay out of his real life. That's it. That was his love life. He groaned and Ian elbowed him in his side. Huffing indignitly like a small child, his sat up straight and tried to pay attention to the music. It really was lovely.

A woman had come on stage and was now singing 'A Lament for Gandalf'. It was actually the full version of the song, His mind drifted to the scene and he could actually hear himself say, "I have not the hear to tell you; for me, the grief is still too near." A sneer rose in his mind.

He had been patronized for the very line once. A woman had found it incredibly 'pansyish and unworthy of movie space'. She had also believed he had looked pansyish and unworthy of movie space.

Ah Claire. She had been such a bitch. But he had loved her so deeply.

Memories came to him through the music and in him arose the urge to cry at the thought of the loss of his last great love . . .

He had first seen Claire in a night club in Paris. A few of the hobbits were visiting him in London, and they decided to travel, and ended up in Paris. How they chose Paris, or that night club, none could understand. Perhaps it was fate. Or, perhaps it was Billy's horrible sense of direction, or it could have been Elijah's bad taste in clubs.

Orlando knew they were in trouble when they walked in and the majority of the people there were in black, red, and blue. People had funny colored hair and were walking around in fishnet everything, with piercings in places that had made the poor boy from Kent blush. Leave it to Lij to find a goth bar in France.

He had stayed by the bar for most of the evening. It wasn't worth his time to try and dance to the music that was way to loud and way to incomprehensible. Lij, Billy, and Dom were having a ball though. They had found a trio of girls that either didn't recognink to care.

And there Orlando was, sober and wishing he was somewhere else, when he caught a flutter of silver material out of the corner of his eye. It clashed horribly with the black surroundings, and yet seemed to blend perfectly. He turned his head, his gaze following the figure as it drifted through the crowd, the masses parting for it. It was actually a woman. A very tall, very slender woman. She looked almost like a skeleton walking through a sea of death. At least that was his original thought.

And then, she had stopped in the middle of the dance floor, not moving. The world around her seemed to slow with out ever stopping. She tilted her head back and started to sway. It took about two minutes before she was entranced like the rest of them, dancing with the music. Orlando himself was entranced.

The spell was broken as the bar tender slammed a glass down next to him and Orli looked over. Lij was telling some woman a story about shooting The Faculty or one of the other indi flicks he had been in.

Turning to the bartender, he asked in stuttering French, "Comment elle s'appelle?" He pointed and the bartender laughed, answering in perfect American English.

"That my friend is Claire De La Lune. Claire of the Moon. She's a regular."

Orlando smiled at the name, turning his gaze back to the dancing woman. Why did it feel like he was in the middle of a movie? He lost sight of the woman and the spell was seemingly broken. He turned back to Lij, who had his tongue down his current date's throat. Orli chuckled before reaching out to tap Lij's shoulder. But, he wrist was stopped.

A slender hand had caught his forearm and was holding it in a cool, steady grasp. "Non, monsiuer. Let them be." His eyes traveled up to the face of the woman. From this distance she was not only a skeleton, but a stunning one at that. He was surprised that he was drawn to someone who was a wraith. He liked something, anything to hold on to in a woman. But something about 'Claire of the Moon' was entrancing.

Her ice blue gaze held him fast. He seemed to fall in those cold depths and Orlando wondered when beauty had become so frigid. Her voice was the clincher though. It was deep, almost husky. Nothing light or airy about it. It was the voice of someone older than she appeared.

"When you are happy, you should not be disturbed by foolish men who are clueless to the world around them." She still held his wrist, and now she started to squeeze ever so slightly as she pushed the hand back towards it's owner. "Do not touch them. They are both happy."

She released his hand and turned and walked away. Orlando could only stare after her in mild shock.

He felt a hand on his arm and started. The audience was rising and the performance was over. He had missed it. He wiped the sweat that had gathered from his brow and breathed deeply. He shouldn't be thinking about Claire. Not while he was trying to start something with another woman.

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Hannah was elated. The opening night had gone splendidly. She had nailed her performance, Orlando Bloom loved her playing, and Ian McKellen came back to the practice room afterwards and congradulated her in person. Pretty damned good for someone, 'With no friends.' She had loved the fact that she was able to rub that comment in that pissy flute's face.

She laughed, just remembering some of the reactions of the group when the two had burst in, obviously having a bitch fight with the moronic guards, and interrupting a 'talk' (more commonly known as a screaming fit) from the first violin, Kendell who heard EVERYTHING that EVERYONE did wrong. Oh, she's give almost anything to relive the moment.

But at that moment, sitting on a couch with Orlando Bloom a mere three feet away, and she didn't want to be anywhere else.