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Azof and the Farmer's Wife	By : kspence Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 9835 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings book series and movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 15
- 16
- 17
One evening after the end of summer, Julienne was coming home from market. On approaching her tidy village house she saw that a quantity of furniture, some it belonging to her and some of it not, was lying outside on the garden path. Mixed in among it were clothes and pots and pans and various household items too.   Julienne examined the heaped items, mystified. It was completely unlike her husband to embark upon a single-handed spring-cleaning at this point.
Her husband, the farmer Drew came hurrying out. His beady black eyes were shining, he was aquiver with excitement and he looked – elated.
“Oh, Julienne,” the farmer said, “you remember my dear cousin!” Not a question after all these years, for Julienne already knew exactly who he was talking about. “What a time I’ve had asking her and asking, and now we’ll be so happy because, now, at last – she’s come!”
And that was the beginning of it.
Four months later and Julienne was visiting a rather different market, attending as a seller rather than a buyer this time. She’d been able to secure the lease on a remote cottage high on a hillside with far less trouble than she’d anticipated and, as her husband had been magnanimous, had even been able to furnish it with some of the leavings from her former home – this being the village house in which farmer Drew’s cousin had now taken up residence. Cousin Drew had rejected most of the items previously owned by or chosen by her predecessor, and having furnished her mountain cottage to the extent of its limited capacity, Julienne was now out to sell the excess.
The market she’d chosen was some distance from her home village. It was in a larger township perched halfway up a hillside that acted as a gathering point for a number of hamlets from down the hill as well as up. Any difficulties in transporting her worldly goods to this inconvenient location were far outweighed by the consideration that Julienne would be unlikely, there, to encounter any of the people she’d known during her previous life.
The winter market had been just as busy and bustling as Julienne had hoped. There’d been a baiting of some kind of wild animal or other earlier, and in the morning the streets had been packed. The makeshift arena in which the ‘sport’ had taken place was in an open space near the centre of the market square – and was located a good way away from her stall, for which Julienne was thankful. She had no stomach for that kind of distraction and had done her best to pay it no attention. Some of the noises the unfortunate creature was making in its torment had sounded blood-curdling enough, though.
“Not just a creature,” one of Julienne’s morning customers had informed her excitedly. “It’s an Orc! You better be quick if you want to have a look!” Then he turned sober and very serious.   “It was a shame for those dogs at first I thought, when that Orc was giving as good as it got. But then they got fresh dogs in and I reckon it won’t last long now. You should go and look – and hurry up, before it’s too late!”
He’d even offered to watch the stall for her, an offer Julienne had vigorously declined. Now it was late in the afternoon. The sun had gone down behind the long slope of the fell beyond the town but the sky was still bright, glowing with a cold pale yellow light.   A fine, feathery snow had started to fall out of an apparently cloud-clear sky, and little flakes of frost were drifting lazily though the freezing air. The crowds had begun thinning a few hours before; by now almost everyone had set off for home and at last Julienne decided it was time to pack up her stall.
The market had been even more popular than she’d anticipated. The town was packed with visitors which meant that the nearest lodgings she’d been able to secure were in a village almost three miles distance away. As she set off, pushing her hand-cart, the farmer’s wife felt very, very weary at the thought of the cold, lonely journey that lay ahead.
Underfoot the cobbled street was icing up and slippery, and the safest route took her through the area where the Orc-baiting had been held, where a mixture of gritty sand and sawdust had been scattered on the ground.   As she approached Julienne realized to her surprise that the creature was still there, sitting still as a stone beside the central pillar to which it had been chained – and to some extent blending in with it, for it was coloured a similar, peculiarly mottled shade of grey.
Local tradition allowed – indeed, actively encouraged - the taking of keep-sakes from such persons as found themselves in the Orc’s position. That too many pieces of his clothing had been torn away by over-eager sight-seers could well explain why he was crouching there to all intents and purposes naked; it would account for the fact that great chunks of the Orc’s matted, straggly hair were missing also. Blood, black and thick as treacle was oozing from any number of injuries over his shoulders, forearms, and scalp. Against his dead grey skin, this at least accounted for the odd, mottling effect.
It made Julienne feel chilled to the bone just to look at him. She meant to keep walking on past as quickly as possible, did in fact continue until she was level with the Orc as the faulty front wheel on her cart squeaked noisily in the frosty air – but a horrid kind of fascination kept drawing her eye.
The Orc was hunched on the frozen ground, head down, with its legs folded tight against its chest. The face wasn’t fully visible.
They were utterly evil creatures, spawned from darkness as everyone well knew.   Julienne shuddered as she recollected the horrible stories that were told about their conduct in the war. Hateful things; these beasts were mankind’s mortal enemy - an embodiment of wickedness, loathsome through and through.
Many of this Orc’s fresher wounds were dog bites, Julienne realized, with a queasy feeling. And this close she could see how badly he was trembling - could hear each rattling rasp of its laboured breathing as it struggled to draw its breath in the bitter cold.
Dark servant of the enemy or not, just then Julienne pitied the lonely, dying creature. She knew how foolish and misplaced it was but at that moment could easily begin to feel something akin to sympathy for him. She found herself setting her cart down on its back leg-rests, propping it up so she could rummage through the remaining contents. Most of her wares had been sold at the market, which meant that Julienne soon found the item for which she’d been searching - a tattered old great-coat that had once belonged to her husband. The lining was gone and fabric was so moth-eaten she’d considered it in too ragged condition to sell - but would still be warm from its weight.
“I don’t have a lot of my stuff left,” she said, shaking the coat out and holding it to show the Orc, “and this isn’t much. But you can have it, if you want. You look like you’ve need of it.”
The creature took a long time to react when Julienne started speaking to him – so long that she began to wonder if he was even capable of understanding her, but at last he lifted his head and looked up with one sunken eye. The white was dark and full of blood, but the iris was a pretty pale yellow colour - yellow as a winter sunset.
“It was my husband’s,” Julienne said. “He’s no use for it anymore.”
Shifting apprehensively, the Orc licked his lips. “Dead,” he croaked after a minute, in a hoarse, broken whisper of a voice. “In - the war?”
At that the farmer’s wife stood and laughed, midway between tears of merriment and mild hysteria. “Oh, he’s not dead! He’s run off with his cousin. That’s what they like to do round these parts. You’re welcome to have some of his things.”
But shackled by the neck, and his hands and one foot as he was to the stone pillar, it was impossible for the Orc to put on his newly-acquired coat. After a moment Julienne had to resort to trying to throw it over his back like a cloak, but high-shouldered position in which he was hunched made the heavy material keep slipping off him.
The Orc made no move to help her. He remained rigidly in place, holding himself, if possible, even more stiffly than he had been before.
“Look,” Julienne said, exasperated after a few minutes of this, “you’re going to have to shift your arse and help me out a bit.”
That got her a faint look of surprise – but at last the Orc began to unbend, by stages, from the awkward crouch he’d been holding. As he stood Julienne was able to see him fully for the first time – and recoiled at once from the sight. She glimpsed an empty, hollow eye-socket - saw that his neck and one side of his face had been reduced to a gruesome mass of torn flesh, in places laid wide open. Julienne could see silvery cords of sinew and tendon in the gaping wounds, and in some of the deeper gouges, the pale whiteness of bone. The farmer’s wife staggered from him instinctively, hand to her mouth, horrified.
The wretched Orc bared his teeth and snarled at her, but even Julienne could see it was a pitifully half-hearted effort. As the noise died in his throat they were left simply staring at one another, and for an awful moment Julienne feared he might charge or lunge at her – for he was now close enough for that. He didn’t make any kind of move towards her, however. Leaning heavily on the stone pillar the Orc hid his dreadful injuries against it, sagged down and resumed much the same position that he’d been sitting in before.
Juilienne knew that something – though she couldn’t say exactly what – had passed between them. Limited as it had been, following their interaction the Orc seemed, if anything, even more miserable and dejected than he’d been at the start of it. Julienne couldn’t help but wonder if her actions, though kindly-meant, hadn’t somehow served to worsen his situation.
“I’m sorry,” she told him, wanting to explain. “I was surprised, that’s all – I didn’t realize how badly you were hurt. I’m sure I didn’t mean to – to offend you.” For a while she went on trying to speak to him, but after that he kept his head down and wouldn’t respond.
The Orc was none of her business, or so Julienne told herself, belatedly realizing that short of taking it upon herself to free him – which would have been as irresponsible as it was impossible - or delivering a swiftly-administered mercy-killing there was little enough that she could do. Steeling herself, the farmer’s wife picked up the overcoat she’d dropped and, avoiding looking at him as far as possible, helped the Orc to secure it around his shoulders, stepping swiftly away from him again with great relief as soon as she was done. She took hold of her cart and set off on her way but had not gone far before she hear the Orc shouting after her.
Turning back she saw that he was once again on his feet and standing upright, having propped himself up against his pillar. “Oi! Oi, you! Hey - you!” he was calling loudly. “I’m –“ he began, and then paused for a moment, scratching his head with his bound hands as he searched hard for what he wanted to say. “Thanks for this, all right? I’m – I’m much obliged to you. I owe you one. Yeah?”
“No need to thank me.   It was my pleasure.” Julienne nodded to him, smiling. “Goodbye.”
TBC
- 15
- 16
- 17
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Azof and the Farmer's Wife