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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
- 8
- 9
- 10
Chapter 9. Missing in action

Under a thorn-tree at the edge of a wood, Azof lay on his coat with his chin on his hands, looking down over the valley below. He was doing his best to think of nothing in particular, a technique he’d perfected during the long hours and years and decades he’d spent standing guard, on sentry duty, or hanging about waiting-out-the-clock in general on the battlefields and in the dungeons, castle-keeps and fortresses of the Land of Shadow.
Experience had taught him that thinking too deeply, feeling, strongly, about the wrong types of anything, were traits that would land an Orc in all sorts of hot water. There had been spies, everywhere, in Mordor and moreover his dark superiors had other ways of knowing; their own means of plucking certain strands of seditious material straight out a person’s head. And because of this Azof knew without doubt that the state he was in – that he’d been in since late last winter – would have been flagged up as something requiring correction, and if he was in Mordor he’d have been pulled out of ranks immediately and delivered of a not particularly short, but sharp and in all likelihood, brutally vicious shock.
Of course his connection with the farmer’s wife was the problem.   Azof knew it was all wrong; that their liaison had no chance of a happy outcome, and yet his thoughts turned back to her constantly. The Orc couldn’t help but feel an aching, sweet swell of excitement in his chest when he was near her - and almost unbearably agitated when he was not. And increasingly, he was growing resentful of ‘business’ – business of the type he was currently about to engage in, or indeed anything else that promised to take him from Julienne’s side. Unable to settle, he fidgeted as he lay there, fretfully.
The people Azof was expecting arrived in due course, keeping pace up the hill with a solid-looking wagon being pulled by a decrepit, knock-kneed horse. They reached the agreed spot, near the bend in the track and stopped.
Turning away from them with a sigh of disgust, the Orc rolled onto his back and stared up through the blackthorn branches above him into the darkening, dusky sky, letting them wait. Then, picking up his coat, together with the elongated bundle he’d brought with him, he ducked out from under the thicket in which he’d been resting and made his way toward the others, crashing down through dry stands of last-year’s bracken and withered bramble-brakes as he went, not bothering to not make noise.
As he’d intended, the racket of his approach preceded him . “Orc’s here. Look!” one of the men waiting ahead of him cried.
Among them were several interchangeable-looking farmers, all from the family Drew and, standing out like a beacon against the dark in a cream-coloured linen jacket, Julienne’s cousin (and occasional admirer) the livestock trader.
Azof waited on the sidelines, away from the rest of the group as they opened up the back of the wagon. From what he could see, his next intended victim was something of an underwhelming specimen.
“Don’t look up to much,” the Orc said.
Distant-cousin Drew had come over to stand beside him. He gave Azof a thin smile. “It’ll serve its purpose. As they all do.”
“Yeah? Well mind and tell your mates to see that rope’s pulled round this time.”
“You trying to keep yourself pretty for someone, Mister Orc?”
Azof hunched his shoulders, puffing his breath out of his cheeks. “Nah. Just don’t much care for being kicked in the face.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say your heart wasn’t in it. And after how much you used to enjoy your work! Such a pity. You getting fed up already?”
“My ‘eart ain’t in it,” Azof retorted fiercely, “like I’ve said.   I’ve told you, it’s too many. They’re gonna cotton on. We ain’t gonna get away wiv’ this carry-on much longer. We gotta stop, soon.”
“You’re worrying too much,” Cousin Drew said, shaking his head. “Not like when we started out together! ‘Hang the lot of ‘em’, you said. ‘Blood and carnage’ you said – didn’t mind getting stuck in then, did you? So what’s changed?”
“I gotta - be somewhere,” the Orc replied, and then, almost plaintively – “ain’t you ready for me yet?”
“Can’t be having all of ‘em found just off of the road,” Cousin Drew replied. “Knacker-man or not, this un’s still quite sprightly. We’ll have it driven over the field up yonder, instead.”
“’Ere! Tell them not to let go the rope –!“ Azof ran a hectic step or two forwards. But the wagon’s occupant, looking more than sprightly, was already clattering down the slatted ramp that had been laid down for it and had shouldered one of the attendant farmers aside. At the same time it tossed its head, jerking its halter-rope out of the hands of the man who had hold of it, and kicking its back legs vigorously, began charging on up the slope. After crossing a slight incline it was soon out of sight, but the sound of its lusty bawls and mooing still came drifting back across the hillside to Azof and his associates.
Distant-cousin Drew clapped him condescendingly on the back, and with a lingering touch ran his fingers over Azof’s shoulder, probing at the hard muscles through the fabric of his shirt. Affecting not to notice the way the Orc’s pose grew absolutely rigid under the uninvited contact, or how his long arms tensed and his hands bunched immediately into fists he said - “well then, Mister Orc! Looks like you’re not going to be taking yourself off anywhere, anytime soon! Shake a leg there! Hup-hup!”
Shrugging the man’s hand away, Azof shed his leather waistcoat, undershirt, gaiters, over-trousers and shoes until apart from his short britches, his body was bare.
Cousin-Drew cocked an eyebrow at him. “Planning a spot of sun-bathing? Not a bit dark for that?”
The Orc shoved his pile of garments into the kitbag he was carrying with him and picked up the heavy, curve-bladed weapon he’d unwrapped from inside.   “Fed up of my stuff getting all covered in crap,” he said. “Easier to wash meself off, than it.”
“Considering what I’m paying you,” the cattle-dealer said, “I’d have thought you’d have been able to buy yourself more than just the one set of clothes.”
The Orc shrugged and distractedly, his mind obviously on something else, hefted his sword up and down in a series of short, chopping motions. “Come on then,” he told the Drew cousin, wearily. “Let’s get down to it. Best get this over with, eh?”
******************
“Should be back just after you turn in,” Azof had told Julienne, before leaving her house the previous afternoon. “If you ain’t getting sick of the sight of me,” he’d added, with his customary anxious look, relaxing visibly as she replied that she’d know to expect him later, and that that would be fine.
Julienne wasn’t unduly worried when he didn’t put in an appearance that night. Her husband had frequently spun out his dealings in the village for far longer than any small-business transaction could possibly take, and actually she – albeit unconsciously – was ever expecting Azof to do the same. In the morning there was still no sign of him, and that did make her pause.
As long as she’d known the Orc, he had never not-returned exactly when he said he would, and such a long delay seemed especially out of character for him, because Azof was exceedingly fond of mornings; loved spending them lounging in bed with her, perhaps even more than he enjoyed his other favourite activity - of eating breakfast.   Even if it seemed premature to worry, who else was there, really, to be concerned for him? And in spite of herself, Julienne was worried – couldn’t quite rid herself of a nagging sensation that all was not well.
She tended to the livestock, and with little appetite, swallowed a couple of mouthfuls of dry bread before opening up the house. Throughout all of this her sense of foreboding did not diminish.
The farmer’s wife cursed herself, for not having made more of an effort to find out exactly where the Orc’s wanderings had been taking him, because the thought of searching for Azof, if he was lost somewhere out in the vast, swathes of landscape, was a daunting one. But she knew he occasionally visited the village in the valley, and from what she’d seen, tended to follow pre-existing paths by and large, which would perhaps help narrow the search.   It couldn’t hurt for her to look.
So, she set out first in the direction she’d most often seen him taking when he left her house. It was a cool morning, overcast but bright, and a heavy rain had fallen during the night, leaving puddles of standing water all along the track. As she went Julienne looked carefully for signs of Orcish boot-prints in the soft ground, but the night’s rain had washed away any traces and she could find no sign of him. And though she stopped at intervals to call his name, there was never any reply.
By early afternoon, the farmer’s wife had covered most of the paths and tracks up and down the hill from the cottage. Ducking out from under the eaves of the wood, she splashed over a row of stepping-stones, set from bank to bank beside a deep pool across a little stream. Dark thunderclouds were rising up over the hillside behind her and she was already thinking of turning back for home when she heard Azof calling to her, weakly.
“Jules! Jules? That you? I’m - in ‘ere.”
Even then it took Julienne some time to find him, for the Orc was lying on the ground on his side, and had hidden himself down amongst the rushes and overhanging vegetation, a short distance off the track. His clothes were slick with filth, and he was soaked through and shivering.
Julienne laid a hand on his forehead. Azof was running a high fever and appeared to be passing in and out of consciousness.
“Bloody thing proper got me,” he was muttering. “Tossed right up over the ‘ead. This stuff’s getting out of ‘and.”
“What stuff,” Julienne wanted to know.
Wincing, Azof shook his head vigorously, coming to himself, somewhat. “Nuffing,” he growled. “I fell.”
“Fell down some stairs and into a cess-pit, by the look of it,” Julienne said grimly, hauling on his hand. “Up! Get up, Azof! I won’t even be able to drag you, from here.”
After several attempts, she managed to bully Azof up onto his feet. With the Orc’s arm draped over Julienne’s shoulders, and him leaning most of his weight upon her, they were able to make progress, of a sort.
“It’s lucky you ain’t a wilting flower,” he said, putting his face against her as they went. It was a confiding gesture if not in every way welcome, as the Orc smelled to high heaven. “Always liked that about you, Jules.”
The famer’s wife tutted. “Have you been lying here in a heap since last night?”
“Yeah. Made it this far an’ thought I’d take a minute to sort me ‘ead out. Clean meself up. Us Orcs might be filthy bastards but I didn’t want ‘a turn up to yours all clatted up like - this.” Looking down at his muck-bespattered body, he gave a choked-sounding gasp. “Never ‘appened, did it?”
“Azof,” Julienne asked him gently, “what have you been doing? To get yourself in such a state.”
But the Orc just shook his head.
As she discovered to her dismay after they made their way back to her cottage, the state Azof had gotten into didn’t apply solely to his clothes. The stinking, sopping wet layers concealed the fact that he had recently taken quite a battering; an awful, fresh laceration had torn open the skin all down one side of his chest and the tissue beneath it was swollen and so badly bruised that Julienne suspected he must have cracked one or more of his ribs. Only the long, ragged wound had received some attention, and had been sewn partly closed.
“Did you do this?” Julienne had asked, on examining the haphazard line of stitching.
“Yeah,” Azof croaked. “I’m ‘andy wiv a needle an’ thread.   Lucky I ain’t a tall guy, ain’t it? Bit lower an’ it wouldn’t’ve been me ribs - I’d be stood ‘ere wiv me guts all ‘anging out, instead.”
Lucky or not, the Orc’s injury hadn’t been bandaged, and exposed to the dirt and moisture saturating Azof’s clothes, a running infection had set in - which accounted for his feverish symptoms, at least.
The farmer’s wife cleaned the wound and applied a poultice and a dressing, and then reconsidering, unfastened the bandage and set about heating water to wash the rest of Azof, too. To properly fill the bath would take too long and given his condition was out of the question, but Julienne lit the fire she’d laid in the grate, warmed several pans of water enough to take off the worst of the chill, and after diligent scrubbing with a series of wash-cloths had removed as much of the surface layer of muck as possible, she sat him down in her tin tub, slathered the Orc from head to foot with soap, then set about rinsing him clean.
Propped up against the high side of the hip-bath, Azof had been dozing – more than half-asleep throughout all of this, but as the warm water sluiced and sluiced over him, he roused, somewhat.
“Ta, for doing this, Jules,” he muttered. Snagging one of her hands, he pressed it to his chest, holding it against the uninjured side, briefly. “If it was up to me, I’d’ve ‘been stuck there, wouldn’t I, lying in me filth.”
Julienne made a quiet noise of exasperation – then gave the Orc a quick, affectionate kiss (selecting one of the cleaner areas round the back of his head).
A while later he gave a surprised-sounding grunt. “Look at this,” he said, shifting position uneasily. “Chooses his bloomin’ moments, doesn’ ee?”
Looking down towards the soapy water he was sitting in, Julienne saw that the dark, swollen head of Azof’s erection, which he was holding in one hand – awkwardly, and looking as if he was extremely uncomfortable about it - was sticking up and just gently breaking the surface.
“Maybe it’s all this ‘ot water,” the Orc said, looking sheepish. He grinned weakly. “Or what you done to me wiv’ that bar of soap.”
“I know he ain’t massive or anything,” Azof went on.   He showed Julienne the rest of his really, quite considerable span, making her wonder what possible, inhuman standard he could be using to assess such a feature as this, “like I said. But I reckon there’s enough of ‘im going side to side. An’ ain’t that what really counts?”
As well as what he chose to do with it, Julienne supposed, though honestly, she wasn’t in the best position to pass comment.   She had only seen one other man when he was in a state....like that, below, and him being her ever-reluctant husband, that had been many years ago. Back at the time she had tried, but more casual forms of contact between herself and that part of him had always been discouraged, what she little she knew being restricted to the glimpses she’d managed to sneak beneath the bedclothes, just before he’d peremptorily - stick the thing in.   Meaning that she and it had never quite managed to – come to grips.
The farmer’s wife said - “I’m happy for you, Azof! But I’m not sure this is going to be the best time for us to –“
“I ain’t exactly in the mood neither,” the Orc admitted, which was quite understandable, really, for he looked sick and on the point of collapse. “But,” he said hopefully, “seeing as ‘ee’s ‘ere, now, an’ everythink, an’ – in case he don’t come back. Maybe you could just – try shaking ‘ands?”
And why not? After all under different circumstances, she’d enjoyed touching, and handling, each and every other portion of his body. Kneeling on the floor by the bath, Julienne reached in and took a careful hold, curiously smoothing her fingers over him. Over the underlying stiffness of his member, his skin was smooth and firm and in common with the rest of him, was very warm to the touch. Holding him like this felt oddly familiar to Julienne and perhaps it was comforting for Azof, at least. Rather than being aflame with desire the unfortunate creature looked as if he wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep.
“Azof,” Julienne told him gently, “I think we’ve been properly introduced. Now it’s time to get you to bed.”
“Bed, eh?” the Orc said hopefully, with just the ghost of a salacious smile.
“Time for you to have a good night’s sleep, I mean.”
“Yeah, well,” Azof sighed. “Maybe if I give it a minute we can have a crack at the other later on, eh?”
“Just as you say, Azof,” Julienne replied mildly. Helping him out of the tub, she leant him up against the warm stones of the chimney-breast and dried him, dressed his wounds and then, given that he was standing - leaning - in her kitchen stark naked, wrapped him in a knitted blanket that (as it turned out) was neither quite long enough nor sufficiently broad to cover him completely.   After that she put the Orc to bed, leaving him briefly only to put all of his filthy clothing, together with the outer layer she’d been wearing into the remains of the bath water, to be dealt with later. It was dark outside by the time she settled herself in a chair set by the bed, preparing to sit up for the night with him.
She was dozing when Azof woke an hour or two before dawn, his eyes glassy with fever. “Wot’s this,” he rasped, fingering the edge of the bandage over his ribs, fretfully.
“That’s a poultice,” the farmer’s wife told him.   “You leave it be. It’s got salts and healing herbs and all sorts in.”
“’Ealing ‘erbs?” Azof scoffed. “What herbs.”
“Calendula, and plantain, and a few leaves of comfrey,” Julienne said. “Old family remedy. My mother taught it me.”
“And what makes you think that stuff’ud work on an Orc?”
Julienne ran a cool hand over Azof’s fevered brow, and it seemed to soothe him, somewhat.
“Oh,” he groaned, “’that’s nice. It’s proper nice, that.”
“People like you and me, Azof,” she told him, “we’re maybe not so different as some folk might want us to think. Go to sleep now. It’ll be better in the morning.”

TBC

A/n - dear HelenaMarkos, thanks ever so much for the review!   No need to worry too much about Azof. I suspect his pals will see him all right one way or the other eventually, really!
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Azof and the Farmer's Wife