13. The Whore

"Morda?"

"Hmmm…"

The old man was standing on a short ladder by one of his many bookshelves, rearranging his vast collection of scrolls and documents. The Winter Solstice marked the start of a new year in Moria, and the first couple of weeks were spent cleaning, mending tools and clothes and clearing out the old rushes on the floors. For the sage, it meant making space for the filing of last year's official correspondences and records, this time with my help. We had sorted through every letter the king and his officials had received, and Morda placed them meticulously on their own shelf according to their sender and the time of reception.

"Has there never been peace between the Orcs of Moria and Gundabad and the Orcs of Mordor?" I asked, handing him a torn and crumpled piece of parchment which I had smoothed out as best as I could.

"Not that I know of," the old Orc said, waving a withered hand dismissively in the air, "The Orcs of Mordor have always been a bunch of uncivilised thugs. They live in small marauding bands with no affection for anyone but themselves. They have no alliances and no honour. They even fight among themselves. All they want is to conquer and to destroy."

Two days ago, the scouts at the south-eastern borders of Moria had surrounded and killed five raiders, and there had been an emergency council on the increasingly grave situation. I had been sitting at Azog's side, watching the panic rise in the eyes of the captains and high officials in silence. They had all had their own guesses at what might be going on behind the mountains of Morgai and how Moria should react to these stirrings. The Orcs of Mordor would want to conquer more lands, preferably Orcish lands, some had ventured, and we should therefore act swiftly and destroy them before they left their nest in larger numbers. No, others had said, the bands of Mordor posed no serious threat to Moria, and we should leave them be. The discussion had become shriller and shriller until at last Azog had stood up, calling for silence.

"We need a clearer picture," he had said, "Bolg, gather three warriors and find out what's going on in Mordor."

Bolg had jumped to his feet and had inclined his head to his father. Leaving the counsel, he had cast me a baleful glance, and I had squirmed unwillingly in my seat. Azog's son had always avoided my company, but after having seen me in his father's arms earlier that day, his resentment of me had become palpable. I didn't blame him, really. The relationship between Azog and me had intensified so quickly during the last few weeks that even I grew dizzy by the thought of it. No wonder the lad had got the impression that we were more intimate than was really the case. Perhaps he even thought I was replacing his mother in some twisted way? I wondered if he was right. The exact nature of Azog's bond with Bolg's late mother kept eluding me, but I could feel that the king of Moria had taken to me unconditionally. And I would be deluding myself if I said that I hadn't developed a strong affection for him in return. In truth, Azog's sincerity, patience and unfaltering kindness towards me had won my heart in spite of him being an Orc and an enemy of my own people.

"They might have been warring internally for years," I told Morda, shaking my head to clear it, "But something is stirring in Mordor now. The raids are becoming larger and more frequent by the week, maybe even more organised. I suspect we'll have to find a new strategy if we want to…"

I stopped myself abruptly before I could finish the sentence, biting my lips. Morda turned towards me with an expression of anticipation on his eyeless face. When had I started to refer to Moria as 'we'? My prolonged stay here was getting at me in more than one way.

"I mean…" I stammered, "Never mind."

Morda turned to his bookshelf again, an ill-hidden smirk curling his thin lips. We worked on in silence for a while, the only sound in the chamber being the scratching of dry parchment on parchment as the scrolls were piled on top of each other. My mind turned to Azog again, and I imagined his big warm hand moving up my back, his eager mouth on my neck, his sweet smell of sweat and mountain thyme in my nostrils. Thinking back on our unfulfilled romance on the night of the Winter Solstice still sent shivers down my spine. The fact that the incident had not got out of control had been due to mere chance; in spite of my tender feelings for my pale giant, I couldn't let a situation like that happen again.

"Morda?"

"Yes, my child?"

"A couple of days ago, Azog called me adur."

"Did he now?" the sage asked, not sounding surprised at all, which annoyed me a bit.

"What does it mean? Adur?" I said, trying to prompt an explanation.

Slowly and with a heavy sigh, the old Orc crawled down from his ladder, propped it up against one of the other shelves and crawled up again. After a moment of rummaging, he found an ancient leather-bound volume with scorch marks along its edges and handed it to me.

"Page 1098 – The Ballad of Comnar and Dúrin," Morda said, citing from the text, "When skies are leaden, and birds fly from their nest, adur by adur's side is put to rest…"

I sat down by the table and opened the book to find the ballad. The pages were thin and worn, filled with Orcish text in a minuscule and neat handwriting.

"Adur is an ancient word dating back to the creation of the Orcish language – perhaps even to the beginning of time itself," the sage continued, "It means 'destiny' or 'fate'. You might have noticed that we don't have any words for 'friend', 'love' or 'lover' – it's all encompassed in this one word, but an adur is much more than that. An adur is a person who defines your life and ideally your death, too, a kind of soulmate. He or she is not necessarily of the opposite sex, neither is he or she necessarily a friend, nor even of your own race. Comnar, who was one of the chieftains responsible for the First Sacking of Gundabad, found his adur in the person of the Dwarf king Dúrin. They were both genius military minds with great regard for each other. They ended their days killing each other on the battlefield. Most people are not that fortunate – the majority go through life without ever finding their adur, and perhaps only a few out of 100.000 are blessed enough to have their adur as their consort."

Suddenly, the old sage seemed to gain a distant look on his face, and his voice trailed off to nothingness.

"Azog's mother was your adur, wasn't she?" I asked, everything starting to make sense to me now, "That's why you agreed to stay and raise her son after her death."

"Yes," Morda sighed.

"But she was never your consort?"

"No. I lived for her, and I breathed for her," the old man said with a sudden passion, "And I would have suffered and died for her, too, if I had been given the chance. Raising Azog was the only thing that kept me from following her into the land of the dead."

I sat contemplating his words in silence for a moment, not knowing how I should feel about the whole affair. Should I feel flattered by being the adur of the king of Moria? Or should I rather feel uneasy by the immense trust he was obviously investing in me? How would all this affect my relationship with my family, my future husband, my own people in general? My mind told me that such a bond between Azog and me would be folly, but my heart soared with joy and pride, feeling that indeed we were meant for each other. He not only teased all my senses, but he challenged and completed me intellectually and filled my life with mirth, which was much more than I could ever hope for in another person.

I was still brooding on the pros and cons on my way back to our bedchamber. As soon as I had changed into something warmer, I would be able to join the workers on the lower levels, who were supervised by Yazir in my absence. I stumbled across Kahrn on the stone steps leading to the chamber, he being on his way down. He tripped nervously in front of me, not knowing which way to go around me.

"Is your master there?" I asked.

"He… ehm…" the Goblin hesitated. He seemed more anxious than usual.

I lifted an eyebrow inquisitively. What was wrong with him?

"He…" Kahrn repeated in his squeaky voice, "Don't go up there! Please!"

What was he on about? Was there something wrong? I quickened my steps up the stone stairway, passing the little slave hastily. He called out to me and tried to grab hold of the hem of my tunic, but I was already past him, taking two steps at a time on light feet. When I was about halfway, I heard the noise from the chamber. First, it was the sound of a man grunting and sighing – unmistakably Azog's voice. Then, it was joined by the groans and shrieks of a woman. They sounded like two wild animals in combat.

Opening the door and stepping into the chamber, the first thing that met my eyes was a heap of clothes on the floor. Then my gaze moved on to the foot of the bed, where half of the bedclothes were scattered around a knocked-over bench. On the bed, Azog was kneeling, naked, sweaty and loud, shagging an equally naked Orc woman from behind. The sight blurred before my eyes, and I had to lean against the doorframe to prevent myself from passing out. He is fucking a whore, was all that went through my head, a whore in the bed – in our bed! He is rutting with a whore in our bed like a bloody beast!

I've only had precious little contact with female Orcs during my stay in Moria. I had seen them in the kitchens and the laundry and in the dining hall at suppertime. But I had never spoken with any of them. Usually, they glared at me with suspiciously narrowed eyes and hurried out of my way whenever they saw me approaching. Kahrn said that they considered me to be an enchantress, a dangerous creature who infested their home like a vermin and spellbound their men. I had always laughed at this, thinking that at least their fear of me would prevent them from doing me any harm. I had never expected to be hurled into a confrontation with one of them.

I slammed the door behind me, making the two Orcs jump with surprise. Looking into their eyes, I could feel my nausea and disgust turn into pure fury. The palms of my hands became hot and wet, and I felt my cheeks blush with anger. Azog must have sensed my rage immediately, because he withdrew quickly from the whore and stood dumbly by the bed, staring at me. The woman was still lying on the bed, panting from her exercise. I pointed at her with a trembling finger.

"Lat! Jashat![1]" I managed in a menacing whisper.

She crawled off the bed, collected her clothes and scurried towards the door. When she passed me, she spat on the floor at my feet.

"Shatraug[2]!" she hissed through gritted teeth, slamming the door as she exited.

I turned towards Azog who was still standing as paralysed in the corner, his blue eyes wide with surprise.

"She… ehm… she was just going to change the bedclothes…" he mumbled in a low voice.

I had seen him naked hundreds of times in more or less aroused states, but now the foolishness of his half-erect manhood infuriated me even more. Had all his affection for me just been a show? A lie I had been more than willing to believe? And all that bullshit about me being his adur – had he no shame? Such a lecherous whore! How dare he even speak to me?! I grabbed a piece of cloth and threw it hard at him.

"Mushof lat![3]" I rasped, silencing him immediately.

What happened next, I can't recall. The only thing I remember is walking down dimly lit corridors with a bundle of my sparse possessions under my arm, not really knowing where I was going. From time to time, a guard, a snaga[4] or a laundry maid came into my field of vision, but they all shied away from me when they saw my tear-soaked face. I don't know how long I wandered aimlessly through the darkness of the underground tunnels, but suddenly I stood in front of Morda's door, knowing that I had found my sanctuary. Here, not even the king of Moria would dare to disturb me.

[1] You! Out!

[2] Witch.

[3] Cover yourself!

[4] Slave.