Freedom's Limits

Note from the Zoop: Let this be a warning - don't make idle mention of Orc x Woman pairings if you don't want the Zoop grabbing them with both hands and telling their story. Helena Markos fell into this trap with a single paragraph in Splint, and has graciously granted me permission to adopt her ill-fated lovers. This is the Splint universe and follows Helena Markos's rules. I hope I don't have to guide your steps to reading that amazing story. If you haven't read Splint, don't deny yourself the privilege any longer.

There is a certain appeal in crafting a tragic love story, of watching the doomed lovers meet and connect only to be torn asunder. We go in knowing how it will end, yet we still hope it was an illusion. Their fate can't possibly be what we were led to believe. The worst part of it is... our hopes are in vain, aren't they? Fetch your hankies, folks. I'll most certainly have a few on hand myself.

Note from Helena Markos: When Zoop asked to "adopt" my wayward, barely mentioned couple from Splint, I was a little surprised. When she still wanted to write this story after the copious amount of PMs and docXes I sent outlining orcish behavior and physiology, the people of Harad, the slaves of Barad dur and the massive amounts of timelines and side notes and character notes I gave her, I was honestly completely shocked.

I really can't think of anyone better to write this story. I feel like Zoop's penchant for orcish romance is practically legendary at this point. When I read the outline, I'll admit, I was a bit misty. To see someone take all of the ridiculous amount of work you've done and make a story in your world is immensely humbling, and I am so grateful that she has done it here.

So, while we start at the end, and it may seem a sad beginning, I think you may be surprised at the glimmer in the end. Thanks again, Zoopers. You're the best! :D

Prologue: Hanging

She'd never sat a horse in all her life, and now at the end of it, she found the broad back most uncomfortable. She sat straight with her hands bound behind her back. One of the men who condemned her had cut open her dress and pulled it down from her shoulders, exposing her to the waist so all might see the marks made upon her flesh as proof of her sins.

He'd tried other things as well, but the cold man in black stopped him. He'd said it wasn't right.

Madavi held her gaze steadily in the distance, a strange calm setting in as his men mocked and reviled her. Brow pinching in confusion, she went over every small thing that had happened, every insignificant detail, searching desperately for what she must have missed.

How had she come to this? Where had she gone astray? Did not free people live as they wished? Wasn't she free? No one saw fit to tell her what it meant to be free. She'd been given a thing she knew nothing about by a King whose face she never saw, with a name she couldn't remember, from a land she'd never seen.

Smador told her once that there were limits to freedom. If there were lines drawn upon this 'freedom,' boundaries beyond which none were allowed to step, Madavi was not informed of that either. She had only her own nature to guide her, and so she did not steal or murder. She spoke no insulting word. She had never caused even minor injury, much less stood idly by and allowed it to happen.

Yet she was condemned. She sat upon the horse beneath the tree, accused of depravity by men she didn't know who declared that her deeds were so great in their foulness that the continuation of her existence threatened the lives of all decent folk. The man in black admonished them, yet his words were no better. He spoke of the taint upon her soul, the mark of the Shadow that must be expunged lest it fester and so spread like the storm of Mordor of years past.

She could only see their words as lies, for she was not the person they described. They did not listen to her desperate pleading when they pried her son from her arms and crushed his skull beneath their boots. They did not hear her wail of despair when they cut down her grief-stricken mate.

Who drew the line? Why did no one tell her of it? Was the line placed differently depending upon who drew it? How was she to know? Why was death the punishment for ignorance?

And why was her son, not yet weaned from her breast and innocent of all sin, punished as well? Why was he, made with love in their hearts and smiles upon their faces, called a foul abomination unfit to live?

Madavi took some comfort in knowing that her daughter had escaped. These Men took such delight in murdering Rauni before her eyes, she had no doubt if they'd caught Amani, they would make her watch that as well.

The rough texture of the rope brushing her cheek as the noose dropped about her neck made Madavi's breath quicken. The man in black's face was somber as he leaned close from the back of his horse and adjusted the noose. He considered her beyond redemption, and claimed her fate was in the hands of Eru now.

She'd been told once of Those Who Listened, and hoped They would hear her now.

Please, she silently begged, watch over my Amani. Even within herself, speaking to a Power she knew little about, she could not demand. If it would not be too much trouble, she pleaded, for I know I haven't the right to ask it, could I go to Smador? Wherever he has gone? If that is not right, and Men do not go to the same place as Orcs, then please see that Rauni finds his da. He is so small. He would be so afraid if he was alone.

The noose was yanked tight, barely allowing room to swallow, even less to breathe. She heard the smack against the horse's rump, felt the animal's body tense and muscles bunch as it bolted, and in that brief moment before the rope snapped taut, Madavi remembered...