The trailer door slams shut and Viggo's eyes look crazed, impossible to read. His walk is predatory, but I'm not intimidated. Fuck him. Who does he think he is? The cameras have stopped; he isn't the bloody king. I growl without quite meaning to, but don't stop myself either.

He circles as I wait for him to make his move, alert and ready. For anything he'll do, any switch his mood will make. He could fight, exorcise Aragorn's frustration with Boromir. Or he could yank at my clothes and try to fuck me into the floor.

Either way, I win.