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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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Breathing hard, Julienne chased after the runaway Orc. The route Azof had taken followed the contours of the hillside, and even as the distance from her house increased, Julienne found that she was neither gaining nor losing much height. It was difficult going in near-darkness however, for the path was barely enough even to qualify as being a narrow sheep-track. The ground sloped steeply away to her left, promising a painful fall into thin air if she lost her footing, and there were many great, flat-topped boulders on the grassy down-slope, caught and hanging in mid-roll on their descent from higher up. The placement of these slabs was unstable at best, and each one had to be negotiated with extra care. Here and there between rock-patches were wet flushes on the hillside, the spring-line being high, as usual, following the winter rains, and the spiny rushes and bright green float-grass that were so useful to travellers, indicating by their presence the position and extent of these marshy areas, were of no use to Julienne, for by this stage of the evening visibility was poor and all colours had faded. The farmer’s wife got her feet wet splashing through every soggy area and in one particularly deep patch, became mired almost knee-deep.   It occurred to Julienne that to set off cross-country like this, Azof must be possessed of a near-uncanny ability to find his way in the dark.
After toiling along for a miserable time the farmer’s wife found herself in more familiar territory, as the little sheep-path she’d been following dropped down through the trees at the edge of a wood and joined a broader, better-defined trail that ran down the arm of the valley opposite her house. This way would lead, eventually, to her nearest neighbour’s farm.
Julienne stood for a moment, not sure which direction to take. She realized as she waited that she was no longer alone in the wood, for there were five or six people, some with dogs, coming towards her up the track. The farmer’s wife’s social circle in these parts was so limited that even from a distance she could tell that all but one of them, him being her nearest neighbour, had come in from outside of the immediate area. Neighbour Drew did not seem happy to see her.
“If it isn’t Mistress Drew!” one of the walkers called, greeting her. Actually this was, her husband’s well-known indiscretion aside, Julienne’s official title still. But for all the formality of the man’s address there was open insolence in his voice, too.
“Cousin Drew,” Julienne replied, stiffly. The man was yet another distant relation (of course), though the family ties that bound this one to her former husband (and by proxy, to Julienne herself) were more convoluted than usual, involving, she recollected, relatives who had set up with second (or even third) new families in their later lives. This particular cousin had been grafted onto the more familiar branches of the Drew family tree as a step-son, in his teens. And he had also been one of the ones who’d made her a special – and in his case, especially insulting - kind of offer, shortly after the news of her husband’s abscondment became widely known.
The fellow’s method of address had been so notable for its offensiveness that Julienne had responded with what had been for that time in her life, an uncharacteristically strong-worded (and vociferous) public knock-back, something she’d put out of mind completely until this moment, when she found herself unexpectedly face-to-face with him again, in the dark of a wood. He was a grown man, with a wife of his own, now, somewhere (or so it was said) but with his non-stop insults and innuendoes, persisted in behaving like a tiresome adolescent - and got away with it for the most part, by claiming he had ever only spoken in jest. Well-known among his peers as an all-round good sort, Julienne remembered the man more for being a tricky character, and vicious with it. As he drew nearer, the farmer’s wife reached up to pull her shawl more tightly around her throat.
“Didn’t think I’d find you walking out so late, Julienne,” the man said, bounding ahead of the others to meet her. “My luck must be on the mend. What a happy coincidence!” Skidding to a halt, he leaned in to plant a theatrically chaste kiss on Julienne’s cheek, remaining so uncomfortably close afterwards they were pressed practically hip-to-hip. As she tried to pull away, Julienne could feel the cousin’s warm breath on her cheek. There was the tang of stale spirits on it.
“What you looking so worried about!” he said, snaking one arm round Julienne’s waist. “Got secrets to keep? Or maybe you’ve been out to meet some fancy man. Oh-ho, I’ll bet! So where’ve you hidden him? Stashed away in your skirts?”
He pretended to make a drunken joke of searching under Julienne’s petticoat, and it was actually more of a calculated attempt to have a good feel of her backside.
“My offer to you still stands, good cousin,” he said in a low, drawling voice, as Julienne batted his hands away, seething inwardly. “And we won’t even talk about how nasty you was to me last time, when all I wanted was to do you a favour or two. Like I said, whenever the mood’s upon you and you feel in need of sorting out, you just send word. I’ll drop whatever I’m doing for the privilege of being first of all the ones who think you ought to be given a good, hard, seeing-to.”
Julienne swore at him, softly, and was already backing sharply away to put some distance between them as the rest of his party approached. All were members of, or otherwise connected to the extended Drew family, most of them farmers, or in the cousin’s case, associates of farming folk; he was a livestock dealer, by trade.
“Just on my way back from checking the animals,” lied Julienne in a loud voice. There was nothing of the kind, up in those woods.
“And we’re going lamping. Rabbits,” one of the farmers said quickly, holding up the lantern he was carrying. “Down that big warren.” This was an equally obvious lie, given that even though a few of them were hanging back in the dark, it was clear that no-one was carrying much more than a small torch or a stout walking stick. Apart from her neighbour, they all seemed to be relatively young men and yet for some reason each one had with him unusually heavy walking stick – or staff, amounting to a cudgel, almost.
“It would of been better if we’d asked,” the farmer went on haltingly, “but, Drew ‘ere,” – the man indicated her neighbour –“said it was after hours.” The fellow was obviously discomfited, which struck the farmer’s wife as odd. Although the rabbit colony they aiming for did lie on the lower portion of her holding, and therefore, strictly speaking, they ought to have obtained permission, it was really a very minor transgression – a matter of courtesy, and not at all worth worrying about. “Old Drew reckoned it was far too late to go round calling at a – a –“
“An ‘ouse where who knows what kind of all funny stuff goes on?” distant-cousin Drew put in, with a nasty sort of smile. “Come this time of night, I don’t like to think what sort of visitors we might stumble upon our good cousin entertaining!”
“an ‘ouse where a single lady, a respectable, single lady, was living on her own, was what I was going to say!” the first farmer blustered, irritably. Speaking directly to Julienne he added -“old Drew said you’d sure be all right about it.”
Julienne replied, as blandly as she could, that it was just fine.
“’Course she don’t mind.   Our worthy cousin, Mistress Drew, likes things nice and wouldn’t want her new place over-run with vermin. But a little bird tells me there’s vermin, and then there’s vermin. Depends on how folk might want to look at it. Now, what d’you have to say about that, eh, Julie?”
Julienne’s neighbour stepped up then and elbowed their distant cousin hard, in the ribs. “Best be getting on!” he said.
“Someone’ll be along soon to bring our....spot-lamp. An’ shootin’ gear and stuff,” the first farmer added, embroidering his already tall tale with quite unnecessary detail, having realized, too late, that Julienne had to have noticed their complete lack of even the most basic rabbit-catching equipment.
“I expect that means you’re all meeting down the big bury,” Julienne replied, and by a great effort, was able to keep her tone light. She wanted them all gone, and whatever they were really up to, it was certainly none of her business. “Good luck with your hunting!” she called as the men, each of them nodding to her in passing, trooped off.
Farmer Drew tarried behind the others for a minute. “Could be there’s queer folk abroad this night Julienne,” he told her, giving her a shrewd look. “Now, you know you’re always welcome round our place - the missus is there and Coppey with her. She’ll be glad to have you sit down for a bit of supper and you can tell her I said you should stop over. We don’t like to think of you, none of us do, living on your own up there, and I’d be happier knowing tonight, of all nights, you were somewhere safe.   But,” he sighed, “I know what you’re like and I don’t think you’ll do it. So take a bit of care, eh? And when you get home, best bar your windows, all right?” On that worrying note, he bid her good night.
By the time the hunting party departed it was fully dark, and the Orc was nowhere to be found. Julienne didn’t see him again in the days that followed. This gave her enough time to begin to – not regret, exactly, but to develop certain misgivings about her recent behaviour.   She did her best not to brood over it: even if Azof was not, technically, a man he had certainly behaved as exasperatingly as Julienne had come to expect from those of his gender, and if her association with such a person would have led to widespread censure, well then (putting her far-cousin’s worryingly prescient comments aside) it could only ever be a good thing that no-one else would come to know about it. No, strangely enough, it was not the ruder aspects of their almost-liaison that were most mortifying to her, but how quickly and easily the Orc had managed to insinuate himself into her routine. Stung by her husband’s betrayal and the humiliating experiences that had come after it, Julienne had worked hard to set herself up again in a situation of total self-sufficiency - or so she’d believed. Recent events however, were beginning to challenge that.
Meanwhile, life trudged on much as normal. Every year Julienne sent an order for fresh livestock to a contact from her girlhood home, carefully timing the message so that the young animals would arrive at the best time; after the worst of the weather was past but when it was still early spring.   Rather than sending her instructions from the nearest village, she preferred to make a longer journey, to a slightly larger settlement further to the south. It was not much more than excuse to see a different set of faces, really, but the range of foothills she lived in ran roughly north-east to south-west and given the lie of the land, by crossing down to the next-but-one valley, she was also able to give her letter a good head-start.
If she set out early, the journey could be completed as a full day’s walk, there and back. Having deposited her message at an inn known as a regular stopping place for travellers making their way south, Julienne had run a few other errands and was on her way back home. It had been a bright, sunshiny day – excellent for walking - and she’d made excellent progress. Now in the late afternoon she lingered, admiring the panorama of greeny brown, forest-blanketed foothills laid out before her, with distances made gauzy by a lilac-coloured sea-haze that hung on the horizon, far away to the west.   She had turned back to her path and was heading towards the tree-line higher up the hill, when she glimpsed ahead of her another person, the first she’d seen on either outward or return leg of her walk. A moment’s watching showed the wayfarer was approaching, coming down from the other side of the mountains, marching towards her with a familiar swaggering, slightly rolling walk. Julienne recognized the Orc Azof immediately.
After a moment, when he was still some way off, Azof caught sight of her too. He stopped, watched her waving enthusiastically to him, and then, incredibly, turned in his tracks and began hurrying as fast as his bow-legs could carry him, back up the hill towards the edge of the wood.
Julienne stood with her mouth gaping open in amazement. Could there have been some possible mistake? It was infuriating - she wouldn’t stand for this!   Perhaps - perhaps it would be better to ignore the Orc - pretend she hadn’t seen him after all, and save face. Or should she hang back and wait until he was well on his way? But, she was – oh! She was so happy to see him!
“Azof,” Julienne called, voice cracking, and before she knew what she was doing was hurrying after him, up the track. “Azof!”
The Orc came to a stop, very reluctantly, under the trees ahead of her on the slope. He half-turned, glowering over his shoulder as she drew level with him.
With a few quick skipping steps Julienne pushed past on the stony path. Speech, for the present, was beyond her – she had to try to catch her breath for it had been another punishing chase after him, up the hill. Azof just stood there, shoulders hunched and glaring at the ground, working his hands in and out of fists.
“Azof!” The farmer’s wife reached for him. “What happened that night - why did you stop coming? I was worried - wondering where you’d gone!”
The Orc pressed his lips tight shut.   Actually he looked a little the worse for wear; as if at some point in the week gone past he had been in a fight. Julienne could see the prominent biting muscles in his jaw clenching and unclenching and let her hand drop down to her side again. Azof would not look her directly, seemed at a loss as to what he should do.
“Azof! I’ve missed you!“
“’Ave you?” he grunted. “Yeah?”
Julienne took his hand.   “Yes!”
He picked her up bodily then, held her against him with one arm clasping her waist. “Yeah?” he repeated, and Julienne clung to him. Her arms went around the Orc’s neck, and she wrapped her legs around his hips. Weaving sideways under their combined weight, Azof staggered a few steps down the steeply sloping path and stopping at the foot of an ash tree, braced her up against it.
Fighting his way through layers and layers of skirt and underskirt, Azof managed to fumble his hands down to her bare skin at last. He pushed one muscular thigh into the cleft of her body and as she closed her legs around him, grabbed for and began kneading her buttocks. The Orc gave a low rumble of satisfaction; brought one hand up the inside of her shirt and squeezed roughly at her breasts, then slipped it down the front of her body and worked it between her legs.   Julienne gasped as two thick fingers shoved themselves into her; the Orc groaned shortly in reply as his hand met the warm wetness there, and he thrust his fingers in and out in quick stabbing movements, moving them with frantic enthusiasm.   The farmer’s wife went along with him, showing the Orc how to move and where and with how much pressure to stroke, and after a time of squeezing and chafing herself onto his hand – in no time at all – she was shuddering out a short climax, her face hidden against the creature’s chest.
Azof had been watching her closely, all the way through and the expression on his face afterwards was still something feral, with fierce slitted eyes and a half-open mouth.   He worked his throat as if to say something to her as they moved apart, and tried again after, but no words would come. And the next moment the Orc had turned and was striding away, his bulky form quickly vanishing behind the screen of young trees.
Julienne stared after Azof for some time after this abrupt departure, feeling hurt, and puzzled and indignant. The cut-short conclusion to their encounter sharply recalled to her certain experiences from the earliest period of her married life, when - afterwards, considering his marital duties complete, her husband would simply roll away from her in bed and leave. But Azof had seemed so eager to begin with! It made no sense, though the end result was similar: Julienne’s over-riding sense of disappointment was much the same as it had been with her husband. She sank down against the tree, pushing the heels of her hands into her eye-sockets and pressed down on them miserably.
“Sod him, then,” Julienne said, out loud. Her voice was wavering dangerously, but she tried to inject a bit of ire and venom into it; a brave attempt, if not in every way successful. “If he’s going to be like that – then bloody well sod him.” She repeated something along those lines several times, but her heart wasn’t in it. She sat there at the base of the tree for a long time, till the first of the stars were out. It was past midnight by the time she made her weary way home.

TBC.
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Azof and the Farmer's Wife