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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.

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It was certainly incongruous, suicidally inappropriate, maybe, but more than anything at this point Julienne, accustomed (at least until quite recently) to receiving all the respect due a stately village matron and respectable farmer’s wife, found herself irritated by the stranger’s comment about her bad language - the nerve of this dirty, miscreant creature! Fear was replaced by something like a flood of indignation that ran straight down through her body starting at the scalp of her head - she could feel it practically lifting her hair by the roots!   She gripped her pair of weapons more tightly.
“If you don’t want to go catching the rough edge of folks’ tongue,” she advised, “best not to go lurking about in bushes frightening people, then, isn’t it?”
“And,” she added, when there was no reply from the Orc, “as for being a nice lady, nice ladies don’t have to go wallowing about in pig-blood and all frozen shit on their own in dead of winter, do they? So I expect that means you’re right then, aren’t you – aren’t you?   Yes - well done! I can’t very well be one of those!”
Julienne’s voice had been rising with anger and fear and indignation and panic all the way through this little outburst, and by the end was not far from being a hysterical screech.   The Orc, frowning slightly, just stood and stared at her for a moment, as if in the face of something completely unexpected.
“That pig-blood reeks,” he stated at last, and he puffed out a great breath that condensed like smoke in the cold all around him. “Wind carries it right up the valley and over up top. I was there when I smelled it and come down to ‘ave a look.”
Despite having been beside herself mere moments before, sudden curiosity got the better of Julienne. “You’re one of them that’s living up there?”
“Yeah. That’s right.”
Another pause. “I saw when you ‘urt yourself,” the Orc said, “in the wood. You ain’t ‘ad it seen to it as yet an’ I can smell that, too. Ain’t you got a man about the place ter ‘elp?”
“Sometimes I’ve a farmhand,” Julienne replied tartly. “Looks like he might’ve wanted a day off.”
Grinning wide, the Orc exposed an unnerving row of vicious-looking teeth. Julienne shuddered to see that the creature’s incisors as well as his eye-teeth were all sharp and came to fang-like points. As yet he was still only smiling, though.
“Might’ve ‘eard when you said what you fort about that,” he told her, “cos’ you didn’t half go on and on abaht it, didn’t’cher?”
Julienne supposed she must’ve cursed young Coppey well and truly enough at that. “There’s not much needs doing usually, in winter on a piddling place like this,” she said.
Apparently having had enough of such technical such chit-chat, the Orc came directly to the point. “Look,” he said. “Why don’t I just give you an ‘and breaking that carcass into bits?”
“Won’t be able to pay you,” Julienne told him quickly, because it was as much as she could do to afford the meagre wages that were young Coppey’s due.
“Yeah, you will,” the Orc replied, at once. “Bit a’ meat, an’ some of the soft stuff’s alls I’m after. ‘Specially the soft stuff, h’actually,” – he smacked his lips – “yer liver and lights.”
“This pig’s liver and lights, you mean? I mean, not....anyone else’s?” for some reason Julienne felt they had to be absolutely clear on this point.
“A’course!” the Orc said, giving her an arch sort look. “Who else d’you fink I’d be talking abaht, eh?”
It was a fair enough offer, the farmer’s wife thought – if the Orc could be trusted, and that, quite possibly, based on what she’d heard of these creatures, might well be assuming far too much. Perhaps it was recklessness brought on the surge of adrenalin she’d experienced at the fright of first seeing him, or perhaps she was only thick-headed following her long, sleepless night. In any case - “all right,” she conceded after a moment. “But you’re not having any off the hindquarters.” If the meat wasn’t tainted, she’d need to try and prepare those portions for market.
“S’ a deal.” The Orc, spat briefly into his hand and held it out briefly for Julienne to shake before thinking better of it, he wiped it off on his pants.
“And you’ll have to wash your hands before we get started too,” Julienne added, with another shudder.
But it was difficult to detect any real difference after he’d done so: the creature’s hands and forearms seemed completely covered by some ingrained residue, or patina of dirt-worn-smooth that made his skin look almost black. As he shook back the hood he’d been wearing against the chill of winter, the farmer’s wife saw that he must be like that all over, for the Orc’s face and even his near-naked scalp were that same colour too: a flat, dusty-looking black, enlivened here and there only by scurfy-looking paler areas and the criss-crossing ridges and notches of old scars.
“This start off black? Before you set it on fire, I mean?” the Orc grinned again as she stood there staring at him, and indicated the pig. “Must say, I do like the colour.”
“They’re a special breed,” Julienne said, quickly looking away, embarrassed. “I get them sent here special. They’re from – far away.”
“Special, eh? You don’t say.” Having removed his outer coat, apparently the Orc now felt ready to begin.   “Now, what c’her want doing first?”
Julienne suggested perhaps he could help her move the carcass into the outhouse building, and that afterwards they could hoist and hang it from the ceiling together.
The pig was a hefty specimen of its type and of a large-growing strain. And rigor mortis had long since set in, rendering its body completely stiff.   But, stooping down, the Orc simply heaved the awkward burden into his arms then straightened up, all in one easy movement.
“Me name’s Azof,” the creature said.
“Azof,” Julienne repeated. “I am Mistress.....I suppose you’d better just call me ‘Julienne.’ ”
The Orc acknowledged this with a deep-voiced grunt. Shifting the pig in his arms, he carried it effortlessly over the short distance to the shed, where he laid it down and fitted the gambrel Julienne handed him through the animal’s hocks. Under his overcoat he was wearing only a sleeveless leather jerkin which he now removed, leaving the upper portion of his body bare. He was barrel-chested and had unusually long, heavy arms, but, Julienne noted (biting her cheeks to stop herself from smiling) he was also obviously having to make quite an effort to suck in his gut.
“Out the wind ‘ere, innit?” Azof explained, flexing and stretching his shoulders back a bit self-consciously. He bent down to attend to the pig.
Roping the gambrel to the pulley, with a single, effortless-looking pull the Orc raised the carcass fully off the ground then knelt to secure it so it was hanging head-down in position.
As he did so the farmer’s wife who, up until now, had been making a conscious effort not to stare any more at him, found that she was could not help but watch Azof, furtively, as he went about his business. Visitors of any kind were a novelty for Julienne, especially in winter - and she had never before enjoyed the services of a helper quite so out-of-the-ordinary as this one.
The Orc was certainly bulky and well-built, but he had the look of a man who had recently gained a quantity of weight. And his great breadth of body was deceptive, because actually he didn’t stand much taller than Julienne did, and she was a woman of only average height. Azof’s almost-bald head sat on not much of a neck and he was noticeably thickset, especially across the shoulders. These were so heavy and wide, especially in comparison to the lower part of his body (for his legs and hips were actually quite narrow and neat), that viewed from behind he seemed to have a distinctly out-of-proportion, top-heavy shape. Note that this was only how he looked from the back: from the sides and the front, the girth of Azof’s midriff, due to the belly that overhung slightly the top of his belt, tended to even any lack of proportion out. The Orc’s broad face was fleshy across the cheekbones too, and he had a large, prominent nose, smallish, deep-set eyes and a definite tendency towards jowliness, that matched the softness of his stomach and the slack-skinned lack of tone in those once-significantly-more-muscular arms. The creature, as he had just demonstrated, was obviously still possessed of great reserves of strength, but had clearly fallen to seed.
All of this Julienne noted by means of swift, sidelong glances as they set about dividing the pig. Azof’s forte, predictably, lay largely in the requiring-of-brute-force aspects of this operation: he beheaded and then spilt the pig down the spine into two neat halves (lengthwise) using no other tool than the small hatchet from Julienne’s woodpile; that, and his own native strength.   (The farmer’s wife, least squeamish of women had to look away when he began to break the hog’s bones apart in his hands; even then the cracking, popping sounds of its rapid dismemberment being more than enough to set her teeth on edge.)   The slightly more delicate tasks – the fine cutting and sorting into joints of the various pig-portions for example, fell naturally to Julienne, although the Orc took a fine interest in that too, and eagerly consumed almost his entire quarter of ‘the soft stuff’ there on the spot.
As Azof gulped down slurping double-handfuls of raw liver and pig-innards and congealed blood clots, Julienne eyed him sidelong, feeling slightly sickened by the unsavoury spectacle. But, she reconsidered, perhaps in real terms it was not so different from the sight of her husband gloomily sucking stew through the great massive brush of his weak-chin-concealing beard; both men were careless, messy eaters but the Orc was at least taking his meal with obvious enjoyment.   And, unlike her husband, Azof seemed straightforward enough and even rather easy-to-please - which certainly made refreshing change from Julienne’s point of view, if nothing else.
Soon enough the Orc had filled himself to capacity: quite a feat given the quantity he had eaten over such a short space time.
“Right then,” he said, wiping his hands on his blood-sticky trousers and easily hefting the rib and fore-section of pork they’d agreed upon over one shoulder, “I best be off.” Without another word, he set off into the gathering dusk.
Sighing as she watched him cross the fields, climbing towards the hill, the farmer’s wife turned back to work. Something had told her – quite correctly - that Azof would be unlikely to stay for the post-butchering clean-up; yet another messy and tedious task that still lay ahead.
The stomach, and yards of intestine could wait, but all the meat that she and the Orc had jointed had to be rinsed then hung up to dry - to say nothing of the scrubbing, scouring and cleaning of the various knives, chopping boards and basins she’d used earlier in the day, and when at last she was finished, Julienne was exhausted. It had already been dark for hours, and was long past the time she usually retired for the night. But while her pig, butchering utensils – and even the floor in the lean-to were all now tidy and neat, the farmer’s wife herself was still caked in dried blood and grime. Not able to entertain either the thought of another night spent on the hard settle, or of going to bed in that filthy state, she resolved to wash her face, hands and arms at least.
She soon found the muck had dried onto her. It took some effort, scrubbing with cold water and wash-cloth, to remove even the surface layer and the effort irritated the scrapes from her fall in the forest, making them sting. The events that came after; Azof’s arrival, the work and the pig, had put these injuries to the back of Julienne’s mind, but now the minor cuts on her forearms, and more painfully, the larger areas where she’d skinned her shins began to throb.
Lifting her skirts she took a peek at the damage; it didn’t look good. There seemed to have been an awful lot of blood, considering that the cuts though quite extensive, were not especially deep, and the fronts of her stockings were more or less shredded, all the way from her knees to the tops of her ankle-boots. Worse, the fluid seeping from the shallow wounds had soaked into the wool and dried there, so that much of the remaining surface of the ruined stockings was now more or less stuck in place on her legs.
She was still bending down, unlacing her shoes when she heard a familiar voice saying -
“You look black as an Orc yourself, now.   All that pig-grease, an’ soot.”
Julienne jumped at the unexpected sound. Azof was leaning just inside the half-open doorway, and he was watching her intently.
“Let’s ‘ave a look.” Closely inspecting her injuries, Azof sucked on his teeth briefly, then said: “I could give you an ‘and wiv that an’ all, I bet. Bet I could sort that right out in a minute.”
He bent lower, and with surprising dexterity hooked a claw through one of the holes in Julienne’s stocking and began trying to work it free from her skin.
“Nah,” he concluded after a moment, “this’s all dried on you here, right? Be murder f’you just try an’ pull it off.   You’re in luck though. If I keep at it for a bit, should be able just ter lick it free.”
“What?” The farmer’s wife exclaimed, not quite able to believe her ears. “I don’t think I’m going to be having any of that, thank you! I’ll just try and wet it –“
“Water!” The Orc grimaced. “That ain’t no good! Spit’s the best thing for this,” he assured her, nodding seriously. “We don’t ‘ave – didn’t ‘ave, no – ‘ealers, nor medics nor nuffink where I come from. An’ you know, Orc spit’s got – stuff in it. Special stuff what ‘elps wiv’ the pain an’ the ‘ealing, doesn’it?”
“Does it?” Julienne replied, nonplussed.   “But I’m no Orc! What makes you think that’ll work on me?”
“Don’t see why it wouldn’t,” Azof growled. “Folk like you an’ me, we’re maybe not so different as some as like to make out.” He stared at Julienne for a moment, unaccountably offended by her reaction. “After all, I ‘elped you – proper ‘elped you before, didn’t I? An’ you weren’t so sure about that to begin with, neither.”
Julienne had to allow that yes, he had been of great help to her. And after all, people willing to lend her assistance these days were precious few. “I suppose maybe it - mightn’t hurt for you to try,” she said.
“Park yer bum on that, then,” the Orc said quickly, indicating her butcher-block. “Bit comfier, eh? Gonner ‘ave ter lift yer skirts bit higher, too.”
Despite her misgivings, the farmer’s wife clambered up onto the block and, as she exposed a little more of the injured area, did her best not to think about lambs going quietly to slaughter.   With a smooth, double-handed movement the Orc slid her skirt and underskirts back well past her knees, spreading her legs wider apart as he went. And did it seem he lingered there, hard, calloused fingers digging a clutch into the soft flesh high on the insides of her thighs for just a moment longer than necessary? Next moment however Julienne was looking away as Azof moved his head down to the wounds on her shins and began licking them, working the torn and bloody skin through her stockings with his lips and his tongue. There was a little pain and some slight stinging as the cloth started to lift free, but these were outweighed by far stronger, and much less aversive sensations of soft heat and wetness from the Orc’s mouth.
When the blood-stiffened wool was soaked with spittle he’d gather a mouthful and suck the moisture out. This was repulsive and yet – not.   Azof’s hands were on her knees, and the sight of his bald, bent head nodding up and down, up and down against the whiteness of her legs should have been obscene; any decent woman would have thought so. Instead it began to call up old, half-forgotten feelings of Julienne’s, that belonged to the days before disillusionment and betrayal, not to say the many years of hard work, had (apparently) squashed all such nonsense out of her. In spite of her weariness, she began to experience a sensation of – not warmth, exactly; but there began to steal over her the beginnings of an ever-so-slight, heightened awareness of the hidden portions of her body; a very faint, spreading feeling of pleasure that seemed to run through her and through, centred upon that secret place between her legs –
Coincidence, or not, but right at that moment the Orc stopped short, caught his breath and let out a soft but unmistakeable groan of pleasure.
Immediately wrenching herself away from him, Julienne brought her legs together with a snap. “Are you enjoying this?”
“Yeah,” Azof said indistinctly, because his mouth was still dripping with his spit and her blood. “Why d’you fink I offered in the first place? ‘Cos you taste luverly. Loads better’n that pig.” A pause, and he added – “don’t bovver you, does it?”
“I should think that’ll do!” Julienne snapped, mortified. All of a fluster she jumped to her feet, trying to rearrange her clothing as she went.
“But I ain’t finished –“
“Thank you!” The farmer’s wife grabbed the Orc and propelled him towards the door.
Azof seemed to accept this sudden expulsion, but he paused on the threshold and turned back. “Maybe if you’re lucky one of these nights I’ll come see you again,” he said, and winked.
TBC.
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Azof and the Farmer's Wife