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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
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In spite of what Azof had said, Julienne was not expecting a return visit. There was no real reason for him to come back – no further free meals for example, to be had from her, she could see little else of value on her holding that he might wish to take.
She thought about the Orc sometimes, however.   The weather closed in again shortly afterwards, with a week or more of icy rain, sleet and fog, and actually, through those lonely days at the end of winter, he was often in her thoughts. The novelty of their encounter was part of it. Added to this was the remoteness of Julienne’s situation: before the breakdown of her marriage, she’d been surrounded by many - if not particularly close friends, at least local acquaintances with whom she had been on good speaking terms. Now, isolated in her cottage high up the valley, the farmer’s wife was sorely in want of companionship – company in whatever form it took, apparently; that was another consideration too.
And then there was the aspect that she didn’t care to acknowledge even to herself – because what sort of woman could think of entertaining such notions towards that kind of creature? Before and even during the earlier days of her marriage Julienne had been a normal, happy woman with a full complement of healthy woman’s appetites and at the time, had looked upon the act of sex as something to be anticipated; actively enjoyed, even. For a long time, even the – uniformly disappointing - nature of conjugal relations as shared with her husband had not dampened her optimism, although ultimately, their sad association had more or less worn Julienne out.
Azof was far, he was very, very far from being the kind of person the farmer’s wife might have found herself dreaming about in her youth.   But, he’d come when he was needed and had shown some interest in her (a bit pathetic, admittedly, but it was true), and over and above all this (and perhaps most saliently), he was one of the few males she’d seen in a long while who was not a direct relation, in his dotage, or of the family Drew. And, as she reasoned it to herself, wasn’t it nice for her to have – just this once - an actual person upon whom she could hang one idle little mid-life fantasy? What possible harm could there be in that?
The difficulty here being the possible effect that this could have on the situation if the Orc were ever to pay her a return visit. And Azof did come back, of course.
At last the last storms of the end of that winter had blown themselves out. A thaw set in and the temperature rose well above freezing, and for the first time in days Julienne was able to venture from area immediately around her house. She spent all morning until late afternoon tending to her flock; the sheep were a small, dark-fleeced variety and though the breed was hardy in the extreme, a number were running lame and it took time for her to catch them, then trim their hooves and treat their feet.
A day spent out in the open, with exercise and fresh air had invigorated her and she sat down to her evening meal with a hearty appetite, for once. When she was finished it was still early yet, and after casting around for something useful to do, she set about washing her hair.
Julienne’s notions regarding personal hygiene had caused no end of comment when she first moved into the area. The southern province of Gondor she’d come from was a markedly more sunny clime, and – in contrast to the valley-dwellers hereabouts - she had been in the habit of taking a bath every day. The practicalities of whole-body bathing in a colder region with no indoor plumbing had eventually put a stop to this, but still she tried to keep herself clean wherever possible; her hair in wintertime being an exception, for she found washing her hair in tepid water in chilly surrounding to be something of trial, at least.
The lean-to beside the farm house had been built against the wall that held the kitchen fireplace so it shared some of its warmth, and one of the old kitchen windows, flanking the chimneybreast, even provided convenient access during bad weather. Inside the little cottage space was at a premium – Julienne’s odds and ends of furniture, salvage from the wreckage of her married life, having more or less filled it and the out-building was a useful space for bathing, and as an all-round utility room.
Her hair was washed, the long coil wrapped and resting in its drying-cloth on top of her head. The farmer’s wife was bending over the basin, enjoying the fragrance of the herb-scented water when she thought she saw – from the corner of her eye - a dark face framed against the low window, very close by. Hand at her throat she turned see Azof, hunkered down by the grimy outhouse windowpane and not leering at her exactly, but watching her intently with a peculiarly intense, hungry look in his eye. He seemed to be breathing very heavily – what did he think he was doing out there, in fact? - and she could see each breath condense then fade against the glass as it huffed out of his half-open mouth. As they stood, staring at one other, Azof made no movement whatsoever; did not speak, or attempt to come in: he wasn’t disturbing her, exactly, and so at last Julienne turned away and went on with drying her hair.  Azof watched her combing through the fine, light brown tresses for a while but when she looked to the window again, he was gone.
A cold spring rain blew in next morning and continued all day and through the night. Julienne’s strange visitor did not put in another appearance, and she guessed that Azof was lying up somewhere, or more likely had returned to whatever mountain hideaway he was living in.
The evening after that however, she found him waiting by the kitchen window soon after it grew dark. Julienne’s heart jumped with the shock of seeing him - and also undeniably, a queer kind of delight.   He stayed watching at the window as she went about her household tasks, grinning easily from time to time whenever she looked up at him, until she turned in for another early night.
It was difficult to understand what was going on. Night after night the Orc would pay her one of his nocturnal visits, sometimes only looking in for a few minutes, but more often watching her and waiting, through the dark. He didn’t come always at the same time, or each and every evening but Julienne soon realized that if she left a lamp burning near the window, at some point he would be more than likely to appear. For some reason he always made sure to stay until Julienne registered that he was close by; he was extremely reliable, at least in that respect.   But he never tried to enter the house or said another word, and on one occasion when Julienne ventured out to invite him in, Azof quickly hot-footed it, away into the night.
This bizarrely reticent behaviour was quite against the natural order, given what Julienne had always heard of Orcs, and it made the farmer’s wife wonder what he could be getting out of these visits; why on earth he kept coming back.
There were clues, obvious clues available to her, however.
Julienne had neither the spare time nor the type of temperament that would allow her to sit pining for a visitor who might or might not ever arrive and she had resolved, not long after the first of the Orc’s visits, to go about her usual business irrespective of whether he seemed likely to put in an appearance.
One night, Azof surprised her when she was at her bath. The shutters stood open and he was able to look through the window of the outhouse and see – everything. His look of astonishment was soon replaced by the filthiest of leers and at the sight of it Julienne quickly suppressed her first impulse, which naturally, was to cover her nakedness.
After all, this was her house (well, strictly speaking – it was on long lease), and moreover who was Azof, of all people, to dictate what she should be doing on her own property!
Julienne had had children – they were grown-up children, now, but she’d had them when she was very young and she was still, in many ways, in her prime. Her bosom was firm with breasts (fairly) upstanding and her stomach was nearly as flat as it had been when she was a girl. Her round bottom – well, there a concession to approaching middle age had been made, admittedly, but it was still fine and shapely, as were her arms and legs, which were smooth and unblemished. As for her face, of course Azof had had ample opportunity to see that before, but her features were attractive and regular, the pale skin soft, and as yet unlined.   She had eyes that were wide and bright, with pleasantly long lashes, and as an added bonus - in contrast to many of the locals in this district - (secretly, Julienne was rather proud of this), had managed to keep her own teeth. And all of them in excellent condition, too.
She knew she was a fine-looking woman and the warm lamp-light was flattering to her, certainly. And it was exciting, for once, to have someone so obviously paying attention, appreciating her. It wasn’t that Julienne hadn’t received propositions, offers of a very specific type, after her separation. Without the protection provided by a man, and marriage, and respectability, she’d soon realized she was regarded by certain predatory persons of her (and her former husband’s) acquaintance as no more than fair game: these fellows’ seemingly kind offers of help and to ‘set her up somewhere’ being contingent only upon her future willingness to lie on her back and open her legs. At the time it would have been an easy trap to fall into. In those days Julienne had been able only to acknowledge feelings of shame and mortification; had not yet found the knack of expressing her anger, and justifiable rage outright. But even then something in her, a deep-seated point of principle that until the moment, she wasn’t aware she’d possessed, had rebelled at the suggestion; the idea that for the sake of nothing more than another quick-fix solution she should allow herself, at some man’s behest, to be put upon and so easily led.
With one of those men, in another situation, it would have been unthinkable. But perhaps - for once – if it was to be on her own terms. What might that be like? She considered her position for only a second or two, and then lifting her chin, made sure to look Azof straight in the eye. Loosening the drying sheet she’d grabbed for on first catching sight of him she exposed a small portion of her body, letting the Orc see a narrow strip running from under her left breast, down her belly and to her upper thigh. For a minute or two she let him look as much as he wanted; feeling increasingly foolish, allowed the sheet to slip further and even changed position for him, so that he would be better able to appreciate the rise and fall of her breasts as she stretched her arms above her head, or the change in the curve of her buttocks that came when she shifted her leg.
Azof’s reaction couldn’t have been more satisfying, and Julienne was flattered, the seedier aspects notwithstanding. By now the Orc was squashed against the glass, one hunched shoulder and the side of his face flattened by the close contact. Yes, there would be.... smears to be cleaned off in the morning. And he appeared to be pressing – certain bodily parts - against it, for there came, loud and distinct in the silence of the outhouse, a regular scrape and rustle as he strained against the windowpane. The Orc’s lips were wet and his mouth hung open, he was sweating, and when he glanced up at Julienne he looked absolutely desperate – through the glass she could hear him groaning softly, as if he was in pain. It was an unsavoury spectacle; the farmer’s wife found the idea of him at her window, carrying on – in that manner - to be faintly revolting. But at the same time it was definitely arousing, also; the look of longing in Azof’s eye! The creature outside yearning for her was, however, nothing more than a disgusting Orc - and with that realization, Julienne’s nerve – already stretched thin past breaking point - broke. Holding her wrap tight around, she turned and made an undignified scramble through the connecting window from outhouse to kitchen (never mind that the stooping pose she had to adopt in clambering over the low sill actually revealed quite a bit more than she’d intended). Hurrying along the outside wall of the cottage Azof followed her, leaping hopefully from window to window until the farmer’s wife finally had the presence of mind to pull the curtains closed. And yet still he made no attempt to come in, and by this stage Julienne was quite beyond being able to say whether or not she would have wanted him.
The Orc was back again the next night, arriving especially early, too. In anticipation of this, the farmer’s wife had already barred her shutters; a flimsy barrier, although in Azof’s case for some reason effective enough, seemingly. Azof, however, was persistent: he did not leave and for some time afterwards Julienne could hear his footsteps, as he stamped up and down the stony path outside her house.
Indoors, Julienne was torn with indecision; found she couldn’t sit still. Truthfully, she wanted to see Azof, so what was point of all of this? Acting before she’d properly made up her mind, she found she was flinging the drapes and the window open, and was unlatching the wooden shutter – all in the middle of thinking this course of action through.
Out of the dark the Orc came hurrying up. He stopped some distance from the house and stood there grinning uncertainly until Julienne, having an inkling of what he might be after, closed the window. At that Azof stepped smartly into his usual position, waiting on the threshold immediately outside.
Rather than carrying on with her evening routine with Azof watching as she would before, this time the farmer’s wife stood and faced him, and, after a moment’s hesitation, unfastened the topmost button of her blouse. Then she waited. The Orc caught on quickly and immediately began to follow suit, hurriedly tearing aside the outer layer of his clothing.
It was a little one-sided, this game they were engaging in – if it was a game. Julienne would go about her business in her cottage as before but as the nights went on, in increasing stages of undress, while Azof would merely stand, watching her intently at the window, more often than not stark naked and completely shameless in this respect. As she’d seen for herself previously, he had the shape of a man – a rough, stocky, muscular man, more or less – and, (Julienne noted with something other than entirely academic interest) the Orc did appear to carry a full complement of manly body-parts dangling down between his legs. Other than that, however, any detail was fuzzy in the extreme, as due to the darkness outside and degree of reflection in the thick panes of glass, it was frustratingly difficult for Julienne to get a proper look at him.
These peculiarly stilted liaisons continued for a few days short of a week.
Then, on a grey evening, a little after sunset, Azof came rapping at her window. This was unusual, for in the past (when not setting out deliberately to make noise) he would come and go as quiet as a shadow, out in the dark. As the farmer’s wife answered his frantic, beckoned summons, she could see the Orc’s barrel chest heaving with emotion and hear him breathing noisily through his nose. Azof glanced down at himself and then up at her, his expression so uncharacteristically serious that he seemed almost in distress. Nodding his approval as Julienne reached to unlatch the window – another first - the Orc was opening his mouth and seemed just about to speak - when he looked sharply over his shoulder, attention fixed on something behind him, beyond Julienne’s range of sight. With that he began to back away, slowly shaking his head.
Julienne grabbed her lantern and flew to the doorway; then in her haste had some difficulty unfastening the many bolts and locks with which she’d barred it (out of longstanding habit, mostly; with perhaps a misplaced shred of prudence mixed in) and rushed outside, determined to get to the bottom of this. There were low clouds and a lowering sky but it was not fully dark yet, and some way distant, she thought she could make out the darker figure of Azof, moving swiftly along the hillside, away from the house. The Orc was stocky and somewhat bandy-legged, shaped for neither speed nor grace. But for such a person to have gotten that far, in this space of time, he must have run flat-out, like a rabbit!
“Azof!” Juliene shouted. “Azof!”
By now he was almost out of sight. Discarding any thoughts of caution and - in stark defiance of yet another life-long trait – all good sense, the farmer’s wife paused only to snag a warmer wrapper from its hook, and leaving her door standing wide, set off in hot pursuit.

TBC.

Author’s note: I’ve, er, had a slap on the wrist about this sort of thing already so can’t say too much here, other than a big “thank you very much!” to everyone who’s very kindly left a review, and apologies that the story updates, if you’re waiting for them, aren’t happening sooner.
Antidolorifico – ha-ha! Yes, I did think of you with that chapter title. Given the subject material it couldn’t not be done, really!
Sara – I sent a longer reply to the gmail address but it bounced back... I’ll resend it if you’ve another email I can use? As for Azof’s appearance...there’s only two words I can say: “Ray” and “Winstone...”
http://janeaustensworld.wordpress.com/2012/04/02/great-expectations-2011-a-pictorial-review/
It’s about the 15^th photo down – the one with the soldiers shows the effect best. A lot of the mud’s worn off but he’s still pretty much exactly the picture I had in my head of Azof. I was surprised to be faced with something like that watching TV on a quiet Sunday night, I can tell you!
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Azof and the Farmer's Wife