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Wolves And Shattered Shields	By : Hoglorfen Category: +Second Age > Het - Male/Female Views: 2426 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Tolkienverse, nor do I write this story for profit.

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
- 10
Whindaër barely reached the cave in time before the storm hit. The weather had been unstable for weeks, as it often was in the mountains in late winter, and now it had finally broken out into a full blizzard. Snow drifted in behind the frozen waterfall as she entered, bow in hand and wary of any sign that the cave might have become inhabited since the last time she visited. But the only sound that reached her ears was that of the howling blizzard outside, so she slowly went further in, trying to remember the way.

Eventually she found the little cavern she had been looking for. It had been long deserted. The door that had once fitted into the roughly hewn-out doorway was gone. A few old bags lay discarded in a corner, torn and riddled with the droppings of rodents. There was a dark smudge on the floor where someone had lit a campfire long ago, and all that was left of the torch holder was a rusted nail in the wall. Memories washed over her, both good and bad. So much time has passed... The room that had once seemed large enough for two had become so small. Near the opposite wall lay a pile of old firewood that was still dry, among them the smashed-up door. Soon the fire was crackling gently, lighting and warming the place up. Whindaër removed her quiver and knapsack and leaned her bow against the wall. At least she would have a warm meal and a dry bed tonight.
While waiting for the water to boil, she thought of the cave's first inhabitant. If felt like ages since they had first met, a terrified young Noldorin maiden and an overly confident young Orc. So many years have passed since then... She thought of the little cavern with the crystal roof somewhere below, of the unlikely encounter that had led mortal enemies to form a bond that neither of them had expected nor wanted but could not escape from. Despite extensive research, Whindaër and her uncle had not been able to find out how it could happen, and there was no one they could ask about it without risking far too much.
Her leather armour creaked softly as she stirred the contents of the pot. He was still alive, of that she was certain. But where and how? She could not tell. The bond was still there, a small something inside her connected to the consciousness of another. A part of her still grieved what could have been had the world been kinder, and she couldn't help but wonder if he was still the same. If he was still capable of that gentle smile or if the harsh reality of Orcs had extinguished what little light there once had been.

The Orc in question had no time to think about the past, or anything else for that matter. He was too busy running for his life. Graznikh cursed under his breath. Some tark-friendly Dunlendings had set his band up and they had walked right into the ambush like bloody beginners. He did not know if any of the others had made it out alive but he was not going to stop and see. The wind had picked up and smelled of snow, the unmistakable sign of an approaching blizzard. That could be good. It could also be very, very bad, especially if he was caught out in the open.
The faint howling of the tarks' hunting dogs were drowned out by the wind as he made his way up into the remote mountain pass. He had not been in this area for years, not since... No use thinking of that, he reminded himself. There was a forest down south, a place he shunned like the plague. She was probably still down there, living happily ever after while he fought for his life every step of the way. The sour taste of unfairness filled his mouth at the thought. Would she feel it when they finally ran him through? Would she cry then, or laugh perhaps?
The bittersweet memories led him to another. He looked up, suddenly recognising a distinct cliff in the distance. He turned slightly southeast and ran faster, wasting what little reserves he still had in the hope of soon going to ground. Soon he spotted the stream, now covered with a thick layer of ice, that hid a small cave further upstream behind a waterfall. But the cave had more than one entrance. The baying of the hounds returned, closer now despite the wind. The blizzard hit with full force as he threw himself into the hole in the cliffside. He stopped for a breather when he suddenly heard the sound of chainmaille and running feet behind him. Shit!!

Whindaër tensed as she heard the sound of running feet. Seven, she counted as she pulled a fistful of arrows from the quiver, took the bow and placed an arrow on the string. She moved slightly to the right, hoping the fire would blind the intruders long enough for her to pick them off at close quarters. She drew her bow as the Orc came crashing in. Then she released the string.

Graznikh sped into the small cavern that had once been his home and hid behind the doorway. The tarks had slowed down, wary now that they had their prey cornered. Graznikh caught his breath when the sound of a drawn bowstring reached his ears. He closed his eyes, swallowing. This is it. The bow sang.
When nothing happened, he looked up. The hooded Elf warrior kneeling behind the fireplace stared at him with piercing eyes, bowstring still quivering after the arrow had left it. He glanced to his right as the tark fell to the ground without a sound, an arrow protruding through his throat. The Elf nodded ever so slightly as the tarks' war cries echoed through the cave. Graznikh had no idea what was going on, but he was not going to turn away the help, however unlikely. He twirled his twin blades in his hands, dropped and rolled as two more arrows hit their marks. He blocked an incoming sword with the back of a knife and twisted, using the spike there to twist his opponent's blade. The other he rammed into the tark's chest. The two archers at the entrance were gone. Or hiding.

He gave the Elf an apprehensive glance as it rose to retrieve the arrows. He grabbed the legs of the tark he had killed and began pulling it out of the cave when the Elf suddenly grabbed his shoulder and pulled him out of the way, just in time to avoid the arrows that ricocheted off the cave wall.
”It would seem we are beleaguered,” the Elf said quietly.
That voice. He knew that voice.
”Well, that's too bad for them,” he whispered back. ”There's another entrance further up. It exits above the waterfall, so either we pick 'em off from there or just leave and let the blizzard finish 'em for us.”
”Why are they hunting you?”
He laughed, a short dry laugh.”Do they need a reason?” Then his eyes narrowed. ”Why aren't you?”
”Do you not know?” came the quiet reply.
Graznikh frowned. Then he couldn't resist anymore. He stared at her intently while reaching out with the smallest of touches through the bond. She had been wiping the blood off the arrows with a cloth, but now she stopped and met his gaze with a knowing smile and returned his mental touch. The next moment Graznikh had caught her. He let out a low, possessive growl as he squeezed her hard. She responded in kind and the sound made his scarred face crack up into a big grin.
”You may've grown into a mountain leopard but ya still sound like a kitten.” A sound from the outside made them both start. Graznikh had an idea. He picked up a rock, signalling for Whindaër to be quiet. Then he threw the rock hard towards the entrance and jumped away as two arrows came flying. He chuckled. Whindaër gave him a reproachful look and he scowled, but then she smiled and picked up a rock of her own. Soon they were merrily throwing rocks at the frustrated archers outside.

Graznikh stopped after a while to listen to the silence. ”Think they've left?” he whispered. Whindaër shook her head. ”Not unless the storm forced them away.”
”So do we kill them?”
”Let them freeze. I doubt that they will brave the corridor knowing that at least two warriors are waiting for them.” She beckoned him over to the fire. ”The stew should be ready, and there is enough for two.”
As Graznikh crouched down beside the fire, he could scarcely believe his eyes, ears or nose. But there she was. As she removed the hood, her long brown hair, braided at the temples, tumbled down to grace her hips. The dark leather armour hugged her upper body and the lower part was covered by the green wool coat that she wore underneath the armour for warmth.
She had changed. Taller than he remembered and with a sternness to her eyes that had not been there before. The terrified young maiden he remembered was gone, replaced by a grown Elven woman. Graznikh knew a warrior when he saw one; her every move spoke as clearly to him as if she had explained her training with words. She handed him his bowl after filling it, and Graznikh took a sip. There were mushrooms, some kind of root vegetable and, surprisingly, salty meat. ”This here's Elvish food?”
”I suppose so, since I made it. It is not what we usually eat in the haven, but I wanted something warm for once and this is what I had.”
”Elves eat meat?”
”Not often, but yes. Did you think that we lived on leaves and berries alone?” She smiled, and Graznikh felt strangely warm.
”Well, judging by how skinny most Elves seem to be, I woulda thought ya lived on sunlight and bird song.” Whindaër gave him a peculiar glance. ”Now what?”
”I have been called 'chubby' on more than one occasion,” she said.
Graznikh snorted as the hot stew entered his nose. Whindaër handed him a piece of cloth after he had stopped coughing and sneezing.
”'Chubby'?” he laughed and shook his head. ”Guess I have a thing for 'chubby' Elves then.” He cocked his head and admired her body with a wolfish grin. Maybe my little âmbal isn't completely gone after all, he thought as Whindaër blushed.
They reclined by the fire after finishing their meal, Graznikh leaning against the rock wall with an arm around her shoulders. ”I woulda given ya a go,” he murmured as he nibbled her ear, ”but I've been running for three bloody nights and I'm not as young as I used to be.”
Whindaër smiled. ”You do not need to be. Rest if you wish. I shall guard you and watch the fire.”
”Nar, no need to. Let it die.” He glanced at the doorway. They whispered together for a while, then he stoked the fire while Whindaër rolled out their sleeping mats on the ground.

Night had long since fallen and the cave was almost completely dark. A thin ray of moonlight filtered in from the ice fall up ahead, but Graznikh did not need it to see in the dark. The tarks were good sneakers but not quite good enough to fool keen Orc ears. As their shadowy forms entered the doorway, weapons in hand, Graznikh flung one of his blades from his place at Whindaër's side. One of the tarks dropped with a shriek. The other lunged at him, but he rolled against the man's feet and felled him to the ground. Whindaër quickly stroke the flint and the fire blazed up, blinding their attacker.
Graznikh lifted the man and pushed him up against the wall. ”Taking the blade for a stroll, are we?” he growled. ”Enjoying a little night-time tumble in the dark?” The man said something that made Whindaër gasp. ”Sorry,” Graznikh growled, baring his fangs. ”I don't speak warg-shit.”
The man spotted Whindaër and the sight seemed to shock him. He looked from her to Graznikh and back several times. Then his expression and scent changed, from anger to intense fear. Graznikh grinned as the tark began babbling incoherently.
”I hope you enjoyed the little run I took ya for. T'was fun, and I guess I should pay ya back.” He held up his other blade. ”Consider this my thanks.”
”Graznikh, do not-” Whindaër began, but too late. The man's screams echoed in the cave as Graznikh slowly pushed the blade in between his ribs. There was a dull sound as the tip pierced the lung, and he savoured the look in his eyes as life slowly bled out of him.
Blood trickled out as he withdrew the knife and wiped it on the man's shirt. Graznikh shot Whindaër a glance as he retrieved the other blade. She was paler than usual, staring at the man with unblinking eyes.
He killed him. He pleaded for his life, yet he killed him, and enjoyed doing so. The sick blackness that had welled up through the bond as Graznikh had murdered the man still lingered, and it made her stomach twist into a knot. She slowly knelt beside the dead man and closed his eyes. Whe she rose, Graznikh was watching her.
”You knew him?”
She shook her head, unable to speak.
”Then why the sad face?”
”He pleaded for mercy,” she managed to whisper. ”He begged for his life, yet you killed him.”
Graznikh shrugged. ”So?”
She went from pale to white. ”Why murder a man in cold blood when he has surrendered?”
”Would you have preferred it if I sold him to the slavers?”
”No!”
”Would you have preferred it if I let him live, only to end up with a knife in my back as soon as I turned around?”
”No! I-”
”Then again; why the sad face? He and that other guy was about to knife us both in our sleep, unless you've forgotten. You think they'd have let me live if I'd stopped running and asked for mercy on bended knee?!” Graznikh was working himself into a frenzy. ”They fuckin' hunted me like a bloody trophy stag for three nights and days! My kind's nothing but bloody animals to them, they don't give a shit if we live or die! Welcome to the world of the Orc, my dear, there's no such fucking luxury as mercy here!!” Whindaër had backed away as he shouted and now he had her cornered.
Graznikh forced himself to breathe. She stared at him with wide eyes, her cheeks wet with tears. The chill he felt through the bond suddenly made him sick with fear.
”I didn't... Shit! Whin, I...” He tried to find the words that would make those tears go away. He felt so helpless, and he hated it. Then Whindaër hugged him and he buried his face in her hair.
Whindaër had grown. She was no longer the frightened little girl at the mercy of an Orc. As Graznikh began to shout, she had reached out through the bond, trying to understand why he became so upset all of a sudden. There had been pain. The fear of loss, anger at an unfair world, hate for the Men that had taken so much from him, grief. There was the fierce affection and intense lust he felt for her, so very different from the gentle love of Elves but no less true. And covering all was the taint of Morgoth, like a slick oily film that clinged to all it touched and could not be washed away. It was stronger now than it had been when they first met, and it tainted her too. Even now she felt it claw at her fëa but her will kept it in check. Whindaër wondered if she would have survived their first encounter if she had felt this through the newly formed bond, instead of it growing on her over time. Would she have been able to hold the fading at bay? Probably not, she thought. My dear, beloved monster. How cruelly the world has treated you!
Graznikh let out a low eerie howl as he felt love and safety flood him through the bond. Whindaër wondered if she had hurt him when she felt his shoulders shake, but it was not pain that reached her. She realised that this may be the closest an Orc could come to crying.
”I can't go on like this,” Graznikh said later with a tortured grimace. ”Going back and forth like this, having ya and feeling so full and then losing ya over and over. It's driving me insane. Every parting tears little bits and pieces off me.” He was lying on the bedroll with his head in her lap.
”Perhaps we could travel together for a while.”
”They don't expect you back?”
Whindaer shook her head. ”I left the day before yesterday. I am a capable hunter and I often spend weeks or even months away. They will not search for me.”
Graznikh's grin was contagious. ”Mummy and daddy not worrying about ya anymore?”
She gave him a sad smile. ”My mother departed these shores years ago. My father dwells in Ost-In-Edhil.”
Graznikh did not know what she meant by that, but it seemed to bother her so he dropped the subject.
”So... how'd ya recognise me back there?” he asked.
”I felt your fear. It told me you were close.”
Graznikh gave her a sleepy grin. ”I almost shat my breeches when I heard the bow. I thought I was done for.” He closed his eyes and enjoyed as she traced the scars on his face with gentle fingers. It did not take him long to fall asleep.
When he woke up, he found Whindaër kneeling beside him. There was a fresh supply of firewood drying nearby and she was melting snow in the pot over the fire.
”Do you Elves never sleep?”
”Rarely,” she replied. ”It comes with age; I know elders who never sleeps. They only rest their minds by watching a beautiful view or listening to music, and after a few hours they are alert again.”
Creepy, Graznikh thought. Then he rose. ”Guess I better clean up this mess.” Whindaër watched him search the bodies for useful or valuable trinkets, then he lifted two of the Men and carried them out of the cave.
”You are strong,” she commented as he returned to pick up two more. He shrugged but couldn't resist rolling his shoulders and giving her a cocky grin as he lifted a third one. ”I guess it comes with age.” He heard her laugh as he dragged the dead tarks out. He turned back to get the last one, but stopped short to stare as Whindaër passed him with light steps, balancing the body on one shoulder. That tark's bloody bigger than her and wearing heavy armour!
”What do we do now?” Whindaër asked as she placed the last body next to the others which Graznikh had piled up. ”Do we burn them?”
”If it makes ya feel better,” Graznikh replied. ”But I wouldn't. I dunno if there're others out there still hunting me, and the smoke might draw them here.”
”Very well, then.” She turned to leave but Graznikh caught her from behind and pulled her close. ”You still upset? With me I mean.”
She leaned into his embrace and shook her head. ”I understand that you live in a much harsher world than I, and it has led you to make different choices than I would have. And I cannot say that they are wrong. I am sad, but it is not your fault. I simply cannot help but wonder... Had I had the same upbringing, faced the same trials and the same mistrust and hatred... would I have become more like you? Would I have made the same choices?” She looked at him.
Graznikh shrugged. ”Who knows? Maybe. It wasn't easy for me either, in the beginning.”

As they left the cave that evening, they were met by snarling barks. The attackers had tied the hounds just outside the cave, and now the hounds were lunging at their prey, despite shaking from having been left out in the storm. One was already dead from the cold. Graznikh yelped as he saw them and hid behind the frozen waterfall. As Whindaër walked past, he grabbed her.
”What're you doing?? They'll tear ya to shreds!”
She smiled. ”They are bound and cannot reach us. Besides, I do not think they will harm us.”
He gave her a disbelieving look. ”What, you just gonna walk up and pet 'em? I saw 'em tear one of my bandmates to pieces!” He stared in disbelief as she pulled free and walked up to the two dogs. They were still baring their fangs, growling as the Elf approached and knelt just out of reach.
”Poor things,” she whispered. Then she began speaking gently and softly in a tongue Graznikh had heard only a few times before. The last time he heard it it had been filled with fear and hate, it had been her brother spitting the words in his direction and it had stung his ears. This time it was different. The sound of wind blowing gently through the treetops, the sound of a calm spring rain, the rustling of leaves in the autumn weaved through Whindaër's voice as she spoke. It made him want to scratch his brain out through his ears but amazingly, the hounds fell silent. One of them sat down and cocked its head. She's putting a spell on them, Graznikh thought, an icy shiver running down his back at witnessing Elven sorcery.
After falling silent, she stood and petted the now calm dogs who began to wag their tails at the attention. ”They were only obeying their masters,” she told Graznikh, ”but now their masters are dead and they are alone and confused. We could set them free, but I do not think they would make it back home. It is a long way to the nearest settlement. I could bring them back to the haven. The hunters there will care for them and give them a new purpose.”
Graznikh nodded. ”Yeah, sure. Just... don't set them free, will ya?” He paused as she held out a hand.
”Come.”
”What, go near those beasts?!”
”Come,” she said calmly. ”Let them know your scent. If you do, you will not be an enemy to them.”
Graznikh did not know why he allowed her to lead him close to the dogs. Maybe it was the lingering effect of her voice. Both dogs sniffed his hand intently as he waited for a bite that never came. One of them suddenly prodded his hand with a wet nose. Graznikh hesitantly gave it a quick scratch behind the ears, and the dog suddenly jumped back and took a weird position, bowing with its front paws stretched out while staring at him, mouth open and tail wagging. He leapt back with a yelp and Whindaër laughed.
”I believe she likes you,” she said. ”She is inviting you to play.”
Graznikh gave her an unsure grin. ”Play?” He looked at the dog. There was no hostility in its eyes now, and no fear. Maybe I could get used to that, he thought.

After a short detour to leave the dogs in the Elven hunters' care, they moved north into Enedwaith. Graznikh complained that he was going miss the 'mutts'. After a night's journey, they camped in the shadow of a large boulder. Graznikh tried to recall his childhood at Whindaër's request.
”I remember the first time I killed a tark. My sire, Tarnakh – I guess you'd use the word 'father' – had caught a young tark from one of the villages they'd raided and dragged him into the stronghold. It was just a kid, not much older than me and really skinny. I'd looked forward to it for weeks, but when I stood there, knife in hand, I was bloody terrified. But Tarnakh and the whole tribe was watching, so I had to do it.”
He took the offered mug. It was filled with herbal tea, warm and fragrant. He wrinkled his nose but drank anyway. ”The first cut went wrong,” he continued after a sip. ”I panicked, stabbed and stabbed and stabbed like crazy, there was blood everywhere and I'll never forget the screams... My knees gave in as the kid stopped screaming, and Tarnakh lifted me away. Everyone was cheering and laughing, calling me a fierce little warg cub, but I just felt sick.” He shook his head with a mirthless grin. ”I never told anyone before.” He looked up as he felt Whindaër's hand on his arm and the warmth returned to his smile. ”Did ya ever have to do something like that?”
”No, my kind do not kill innocents.”
”Then how d'ya become warriors if you never actually fight and kill?”
”We spar with each other. It begins with wooden weapons of various kinds, when we are considered ready we move on to blunted metal, to get used to the weight and balance. After that, we practise with sharp weapons. At that point we also begin to accompany the border patrols and hunters. Few Men ever become as proficient as a good Elven swordsman, they do not have the time. We Elves have all the time in the world, literally so, to become good at what we do, whether it is gardening, cooking, writing or the art of weaponplay.”
”But if you never fight anything but Elves, you'll never get good, will ya? I mean, really good. A big part of being a warrior is knowing your enemy and if you never face them, how will you learn?”
”What do you learn from killing children?”
”That was just the first test,” Graznikh said, ”to see if I was up for it. The killing got easier with time, after I'd learned how to use a weapon and started going on raids. That's where you learn the real deal, not sparring.”
”So sparring with you will not teach me anything new?”
Graznikh grinned. ”You want me to teach you how to fight, huh?”
Whindaër nodded with a confident smile. ”If you have anything to teach me, that is.”
He sucked in air through his fangs. ”Was that a challenge I heard there? Did the little Elven lady just taunt me?” He stood up, a wolfish grin on his lips, and rolled his shoulders with a cracking sound.
”Lady, is it?” Whindaër rose as well and stepped out into the clearing. ”I have heard that Orcs fight dirty.” Graznikh cocked his head, admiring her swaying hips for a moment before drawing his blades. This is gonna be good!
”Since they let ya out here, I'll assume you're old enough to play with sharp toys. Catch,” he said and threw the blade hilt-first in her general direction. She spun to catch it.
”Show-off,” he jeered and laughed as she stuck her tongue out at him.
”Right,” he continued as he twirled the blade between his fingers. ”I'm gonna test ya a little, see what you can and can't do. Don't drop the blade, or I'll do things to you that'll invade your dreams for years to come. And If I catch ya with your guard down,” he added with a sly grin, ”you'll pay for it. Oh, how you will pay.”
Graznikh begun with some basic moves and Whindaër caught on fast. Their sparring slowly intensified and he begun adding some easy feints and tricks. It was obvious that she had never fought an Orc before. Whindaër began to make small mistakes that Graznikh mercilessly took advantage off, and soon he had caught her from behind with a knife at her neck.
”Too bad,” he whispered hotly in her ear as he groped her. ”Lucky you're with me or something bad might've happened.”
She twisted out of his grip and they continued sparring. Soon Whindaër found herself without a weapon as Graznikh grabbed her wrist, twisted it behind her back and plucked the blade from her hand.
”Oops,” Graznikh grinned. ”This could happen in a real fight too. I guess you'll just have to come and take it from me, it's good practice.” He watched as she paced him well outside his reach. ”You're not afraid to come closer, are you? Am I too rough on ya?” She shook her head.
”Good. Come here, I'll show ya how to disarm someone. Seriously, I'm not gonna do anything,” he added when she hesitated.
When she came close, he could not resist snarling and snapping his fangs towards her. It was meant as a joke, but she exploded from the tension and slapped him hard.
”Skai!!” Graznikh yelped and stumbled back. Whindaër gasped.
”I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!”
Graznikh chuckled, rubbing his stinging cheek. ”Nar, it's my own fault. I shoulda seen that coming.” He looked around. ”Oh, for fuck's sake!” he exclaimed as he spotted his blades in Whindaër's hands. She gave him an innocent smile before returning one of them.
”That's just naughty,” he grinned as he caught it. ”Really, really naughty!” He charged and put her on the defensive. Soon he had her pinned against a tree.
”Here's another lesson; always keep your back free,” he murmured. Then he kissed her and tried to keep from grinning as she returned the kiss. After a while, he retreated a little to look at her. She was rosy-cheeked and breathed heavily, and not only from the sparring.

”Come on then, back to the lesson!” Frustration hit him through the bond and he chuckled. ”Oh no. If you wanna play, you gotta work for it.”
They began pacing each other again.
”So when does this test end?” Whindaër asked.
”When you give up,” Graznikh replied with a mischievous grin. She lunged at him but he dodged.
”I was not aware that this was a competition.”
”It's not a proper test if you can't fail, is it?” Steel met steel briefly.
”And what is the punishment if I do?”
”You'll see. Don't worry, you might even like it.”
”That is assuming I do fail,” Whindaër said and attacked again. Graznikh made a grab for her hand in an attempt to disarm her, but Whindaër pulled back and he grabbed the sharp blade instead.
”Gah, skai!!” he roared, clasping his hand. ”Shit.”
Whindaër dropped her blade and ran up to him. ”Is it deep? Let me see, I have bandages in my pack.” Graznikh opened his hand and showed her. ”But... There is no blood...” She slowly rose to face Graznikh's mad grin as she realised her mistake. She bolted, but he was too fast. After a short and noisy struggle he managed to fell her and she tumbled down onto her back in the grass, laughing.
”You cheated!” she exclaimed.
”Nar, I feinted,” Graznikh replied while rubbing against her. ”And you fell for it like a beginner.” He grinned. ”And what did I tell ya 'bout dropping the blade? Oh, you're really screwed this time, little Elf...” He heard her whisper something that sounded like 'not yet', but wasn't sure if he had imagined it. ”Now, how to get ya outta that armour...”

After fumbling with it for a while, Graznikh began to grow frustrated. There were no straps, no buckles, no lacing, nothing that showed how to get it off. ”What the fuck is this?” he snarled at Whindaër's amused expression. ”Did you glue this thing on?”
Whindaër giggled. ”It comes off fairly easily once you know how.”
Graznikh rolled his eyes with a scowl. ”Of course it's easy when you know how!” He forced her hands up above her head. ”Besides, if memory serves me right I don't really need to take your clothes off to fuck ya.” He grinned, growling and exaggerating his Orcish accent. ”D'ya want me ta fuck yuh like this? Like yuh were a soldier I'd just defeated in battle, layin' there all helpless on the bloody ground?” There was a distinct tint of apprehension in her scent now. Just the way it should be.
”'Cause if you were, I'd do this,” he said while pulling a leather string from his belt and tying her hands. One of his knives lay close by and he used it to nail her hands to the ground above her head. Then he flipped her over.
Whindaër stared at her tied hands. The situation brought back memories of the first time her body had betrayed her because of his touch.
”And then I'd do this,” he murmured and she heard him spit loudly in his hand. She wondered if he did that on purpose. Experienced fingers slid beneath her clothes and found the right place, forcing a whimper over her lips. ”This ain't for you, ya know,” Graznikh chuckled. ”I don't care how much I hurt ya. But it slides in easier if it's a little slick.” He purred deep in his chest as Whindaër could no longer keep silent. ”Will ya listen to the mighty warrior. I think the little slut likes it!” The glower she gave him made his dick throb.
Whindaër gasped and rose her hips to meet him as he replaced his fingers with his dick. The inevitable assault upon her fëa came as the Orc filled and stretched her insides, but this time she did not fight the darkness. It cannot defeat me unless I let it. Graznikh moved slowly, taking care not to hurt her. But soon he heard a frustrated groan.
”Stop,” Whindaer gasped.
Graznikh froze. This wasn't part of the deal! ”What?”
She glanced at him through the corner of her eye. ”Stop holding back!”
Graznikh couldn't believe his ears, but shook his head. ”I'm not gonna take any risks. If you die-”
”You cannot kill me,” she said hotly. ”Not anymore.”
He hesitated and stroke her cheek with a finger, but she growled and quickly caught his hand between her teeth. She was not nearly strong enough to pierce his tough hide, but the sting of pain and the fact that she had just bit him was enough to make him lose control completely. The sudden assault was like a breaking dam and Whindaër cried out as he began bucking furiously into her. Every hard thrust seemed to be aimed at some sensitive spot deep inside and soon she came hard, biting her lip as she did. The scent of blood seemed to spur him further and she felt him bite viciously into her shoulder as he roared his own climax. The leather armour prevented any serious damage, but she would no doubt have a bruise by the morrow. After a brief rest he began thrusting again, driving them both to a second climax with fingers and cock. They clung to each other as their breathing slowed, kissing and nuzzling. Graznikh could not stop purring.

They continued to spar regularly as they traveled, and not every session ended like the first one. Graznikh enjoyed it anyway; Whindaër was pretty good already and she learned fast. Graznikh taught her how to fight dirty, and once he had managed to convince her to do away with the whole 'fighting with honour' deal she began to show real promise.
They hunted together, and now it was Whindaër's time to instruct Graznikh after he had seen her draw, nock and kill a deer in a single motion. He had practiced a lot while hunting for the stronghold, but Whindaër gave him some pointers and taught him the Elven method of 'instinctual archery'.
”We are creating monsters here,” Whindaër said with a smile after a particularly successful hunt. ”An Elf and an Orc learning each others' ways of fighting. How will this end?”
”Yeah, if we go on like this we'll be bloody invincible.” Graznikh stopped grinning as he saw Whindaër frown. ”What's wrong?”
”The bond feels strange,” she said. ”Do you feel it as well?”
Graznikh concentrated, trying to feel if anything was different. ”I feel... It's hard to describe. Like a faint tugging. It's not the bond though, it's something else.”
Whindaër looked worried. ”Can you feel if it pulls you in any particular direction?”
Graznikh shook his head. ”Nar, it's too faint. Don't worry, I'll keep an ear to the ground and let you know if anything changes.”
As the weeks passed, Whindaër realised that she was happy. As strange as it was, Graznikh turned out to be a good friend as well as a good lover. He could be cruel and bloodthirsty, but he tried hard not to upset her with it. He was nimble-fingered and efficient and what few necessary crafts and repairs that Orcs made, he made with great skill. There was an foreign, rugged almost-handsomeness about him as he sat in the firelight, shirtless in the hot summer night, and braided thin rawhide strips to replace the old lacing that had worn off the hilt of one of his knives. Every now and then he glanced at her and grinned briefly before returning to work.
She was still unsure about whether their intense physical activities could be called 'love-making'. And she was not sure that it even mattered. Graznikh was no Elf, of course he would not express emotions in an Elven way. The love of Orcs would be like they were – rough, selfish and violent. But things were slowly changing. The more she learned and the more she proved herself a capable fighter, the more Graznikh seemed to respect and treat her as an equal.
Graznikh savoured every moment they spent together. He had always imagined Elves to be pedantic versions of Orcs, but the more time he spent with Whindaër, the more he realised how very wrong he had been. But he simply could not get the point of life in the Elven settlements. They built a kind of stronghold, only with excessive decorations everywhere, and then they... lived? There was no fighting, no raiding, just the occasional trading trip and hunt. But mostly they ate greens, listened to music, poked plants, practised with weapons they hoped to never use or wrote letters to Elves in other settlements and told them all about the lack of living they all did. The idea of 'gardening' was particularly hilarious. Plants grew anyway, there was no reason to poke them with a stick. And if there were plants that needed to be poked with a stick to grow, then what was the point in keeping them at all? To Graznikh, it seemed like a very sick and distinctly Elven kind of cruelty. As he told her as much, Whindaër fell over laughing at the thought of an Orc explaining to master gardener Faerinwen what an insane torturer she truly was.

One evening, the chill of fear struck her as she woke up beside the extinct campfire.
”Graznikh?”
”Mmh?” came the sleepy answer. He buried his face in her hair and sighed happily.
”How... how long do Orcs live?” She dreaded the answer.
”No idea.”
”How can you not know?”
”Never thought about it,” he said and yawned. ”Never cared to. I've seen tarks and Dunlendings die of old age, but no Orcs. We tend to go down fighting.”
”Are all Orcs fighters? What of women and children?”
”Some of the women are, but not all. And not the cubs. But they get killed too, sooner or later. There are tark mercenaries who gets paid to clear out strongholds, and when they succeed they kill everyone and everything inside. That's how the female who whelped me died, or so I'm told. I was too young to remember.”
”Oh, Graznikh... I am so sorry.”
He shrugged. ”Don't be. Like I said, I don't remember it. Hoshash – the one who brought me up as a cub – hid with me, and when Tarnakh and Kurrush and the others returned they brought us to Dunland.” He looked at her. ”Why d'you ask?”
”I feared that you would fade and die, like Men do.”
”Nar,” Graznikh grinned. ”We're better than those lousy tarks. I don't think any of us die unless we fall in battle.”
”Why do you hate them so? And what makes them different than, say, Dunlendings?”
Graznikh growled. ”I told ya, they hunt us! And not just after raids and such, it's a free-for-all on Orc heads everywhere tarks settle down. And they keep settling bloody everywhere! Sure, you Elves kill us too if someone's stupid enough to set up a stronghold too close to Elfy places, but when you're left alone, you tend to do others the same favour. That's why we never attacked your haven or caravans until Tarnakh went crazy. I'm kinda glad he did as things turned out pretty well. But the tarks...” He growled again. ”Dunlendings are different. They don't like us, but it's not kill-on-sight. Many of 'em are open to talk, to trade, even to broker alliances. The tarks seem to hate them almost as much as they hate us Orcs, so we've got a common enemy there.”
Whindaër frowned. ”I always believed Orcs stayed away from the haven because we were too strong a foe for them. Everyone else in the haven seems to think so too.”
Graznikh laughed. ”What? You told me you were trained by the best you got, and you stood no chance against me. Gimme five decent-sized raiding bands and that place'd be a ruin in no time. But I won't. We won't. You Elves are like wasps, nice and calm when left alone but swarming when someone tries to poke your nest or take your honey. And you've got no honey, nothing we want, so it's not worth the effort.”
”You could ask for whatever it is you want, you know.”
Her words made Graznikh chuckle, and he pulled her close with a possessive growl. ”Orcs don't ask, m' dear. We take. No pretty 'please's or 'thank you's. Begging's for the weak. I'm smart enough to see the consequences of whatever I do and I've enough insight to know when to stay my hand, which is probably why I've survived this long. But don't make the mistake of thinking I'm docile. I've made a lot of exceptions for you, but only for you. No one else gets off the hook.” He pressed his bared fangs against her cheek, inhaling deeply. ”You're mine. And I intend to keep ya. Anyone threatens ya, or pisses ya off, or bores ya, just point 'em out and I'll deal with 'em if you don't wanna do it yourself.”
Whindaër felt a chill as she met Graznikh's glowing eyes in the deepening shadows. Sweet shade of Yavanna, she thought. He actually looks forward to it!

NOTES:
Whindaër is not doing magic, it's just Graznikh's superstition playing tricks on his mind. The only 'magic' she has is the Gift of Foresight, which is so weak as to be more or less useless.
Whindaër is 'chubby' and not beautiful by Elven standards. She's 165 cm tall, same as Graznikh, making her at least a head shorter than the average Elf (and him a fairly large Orc). She's also sturdier than most.
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Wolves And Shattered Shields