Wow -- I can't believe I actually got two reviews for Chapter 1! Thank you to all you orc-lovers out there! Oh, and I made some cover art for this story, because I'm addicted to making cover art. The link is in my profile, since ff.n for some reason won't let me put URLs in author notes.

II

Lynneth opened her eyes. She saw a blurred pattern of red and green, and felt something rough under her cheek. For a few seconds she could not comprehend where she was, and then she realized she must be lying on the braided rug that covered the floor in front of her hearth. Painfully she raised herself on one elbow, feeling torn muscles protest the movement even as she did so.

"It didn't hurt you."

The voice was rough, almost guttural, with a harsh accent she couldn't place. She looked up, only to see a nightmare standing before her.

From her prone position he looked even more inhumanly tall, his shoulders massive, bare arms heavily muscled and crisscrossed with scars. Deep-set eyes caught a reddish glow from the banked fire and seemed to blaze blood-colored in the dimly lit room. His legs were likewise bare, his torso covered only by ragged bits of cloth and what looked like the remains of a chain-mail hauberk.

It can't be, Lynneth thought. They all perished at the end of the War...

But if it were not an orc who stood there, then she couldn't begin to put a name to the creature who stared down at her. After a few seconds she realized he was waiting for some sort of reply, so she faltered, "What didn't hurt me?"

"The boar." He jerked a finger toward her kitchen.

Mystified, Lynneth stood and took a few painful steps in the direction he had indicated. She looked into the kitchen, only to see the carcass of an enormous boar slung across the table normally reserved for more sedate occupations such as chopping vegetables or kneading bread. Blood dripped off one side of the the scrubbed wood and down to the slate floor, where it trailed all the way to the back door.

So much for the two hours I spent cleaning in there this morning, she thought ruefully. But obviously he had killed the boar to save her. Very probably she would be dead if it weren't for this -- this -- whatever he was.

"Thank you," she said.

He stared at her silently, and Lynneth began to wonder whether anyone had ever said those two words to him before.

"Your -- your name, sir?" she asked. Perhaps orcs didn't even have names...

But he replied immediately, "Ulfakh."

The word sounded harsh and cruel to her, but she supposed that was only to be expected. "My name is Lynneth," she offered.

He nodded slightly in acknowledgment as he watched her out of those odd reddish-dark eyes. Three rings of dark metal in his left ear glimmered with the movement.

But why had he saved her? What little she knew of orcs certainly did not speak for any sort of altruistic behavior on their part. However, she thought it would be quite rude to question his motives, so instead she cast about in her mind for a more innocuous question. "How did you know to bring me here?"

"Been watching you."

Of course that remark only unsettled her further. In an attempt to hide her dismay, Lynneth moved toward the table where the carcass of the boar lay. It was huge, with blood smeared on its long, cruel tusks. She realized faintly that the blood was probably Halfmoon's. So was it the orc's watching eyes she had sensed in the woods, or the boar's? And how long had he -- the orc, not the boar -- been hiding in the forest? All these long months since the War had ended this past spring?

"I can help with that," he offered, and walked past her to the dead boar. The orc removed a long knife from a crudely made sheath at his studded belt and made a long incision in the dead animal's belly. Without hesitation he reached in and removed the organs, then threw them to the ground with a bloody splat.

Lynneth could feel the gorge rise in her throat, and she quickly choked down the bile. Somehow she had the idea that the orc would not appreciate her getting sick all over his kill. Besides, for some reason she did not want him to think of her as a weak woman who couldn't stand to watch an animal being dressed. It wasn't as if she hadn't done much the same with the rabbits she had caught, and she had watched Timon butcher a sheep on more than one occasion. No, it was more the abandon and casual glee with which the orc performed the task. He seemed to enjoy getting gore up to the elbows, and once even raised his bloody-hafted knife to lick the red juices from its length.

You will not get sick, she thought. You will not get sick...

Mercifully it was over soon enough. The boar had been reduced to its component parts, and the orc -- Ulfakh, Lynneth reminded herself -- had finished the job by extracting the beast's tusks, wiping them on the ragged edges of cloth that barely concealed his upper thighs, and then stringing them on a dirty cord he wore around his neck. It already held other similarly gruesome decorations, including something that looked like a human ear.

The bile reasserted itself, and Lynneth once again choked it back down. If he were going to hurt you he would have done so already, she told herself sternly. Trying to adopt a casual tone, she said, "I can put most of that meat in the smoke house. But I'll roast that haunch for supper, if you're hungry."

He gave her a blank look.

Oh, Eru, he probably eats it raw, she thought. But that is something I will not allow in my house. "I've been told I'm a very good cook," she added, and after a few seconds of watching her closely he nodded. There might have even been the faintest hint of a smile at the edges of his mouth, but with the way his sharp incisors pulled at his lips it was hard for her to tell for sure.

At least he seemed willing enough to gather up the raw meat and follow her out the back door to the smokehouse, where she showed him how to hang it up on the hooks placed there for that purpose. It seemed she was forgetting something, and suddenly Lynneth remembered all the carefully packaged meat Laragond had sent home with her. Gone along with her poor pony, she thought, and realized how lucky she really was. The boar most certainly would have killed her, and now not only had Ulfakh rescued her from a messy death, but he had provided for her sustenance in a most fortuitous manner.

After they were done Ulfakh raised his head to the dark sky. His nostrils flared, as if he smelled something on the wind. "Rain is coming," he said, and without further comment loped away from her and down the path that led back into the forest.

Lynneth opened her mouth, and then shut it again. What, really, could she have said to stop him? She did rather wish he had told her whether he would be coming back for supper, but then she decided it would be better to assume that he was.

Even before she settled herself down to clean up the mess his abandoned butchery had left in the kitchen, Lynneth restoked the fire, stirring it up so that its heat would be sufficient to roast the enormous haunch she had set aside for the evening meal. Deftly she spitted it, then pushed up her sleeves and set to work.

By the time she was done she felt quite as bloody as Ulfakh had looked, and longed for a bath. The boar was roasting nicely, and the potatoes she had set into the bake oven at the back of the fireplace were well on their way to being done. Hesitant, she went to the front door of the house, opened it, and looked out. Clouds obscured the moon, and she could see little in the heavy darkness. A few random drops of moisture struck her upturned face. It appeared Ulfakh had been right.

Still, it would be at least an hour before the food was ready, and Lynneth already had a cistern of water waiting to be used for her biweekly bath. It would need heating, but she could do that over the great-room fireplace. When Timon had built the house for her, he had indulged Lynneth by constructing it with two hearths, one in the kitchen and one in the main room, and that was often where she took her bath, luxuriating for hours in front of the fire.

But what if Ulfakh came back before she was ready? The thought of being caught naked in the bath by an orc held little appeal. Then again, neither did being covered in filth, and of course she could bar the door and tell him to wait until she had covered herself. She would keep the robe she had made the previous winter out of soft new wool close at hand, just as a precaution.

And it was heavenly to immerse herself in the warm water -- actually, truth be told, in her haste she had only heated it to a bit past tepid -- and to feel the terror and dirt of the day wash itself away with each sweep of the soft homemade soap along her arms. Laragond's wife might have a shrewish tongue, but she also had a way with herbs, and the aromatic solution she made up for Lynneth's hair seemed to relax her as she kneaded away at her scalp and breathed in the scents of chamomile, cherry bark, and other roots and leaves whose names she could only guess at.

Lynneth had just finished pouring a cupful of water over her damp head to rinse out the last of the hair wash when a pounding came at the door. Her heart seemed to fly into her throat, but she willed herself to be calm, and called out, "It's latched. One moment -- "

Her only answer was more pounding, and the latch rattled furiously as if to add emphasis.

Forcing herself not to repeat some of the more colorful curses she'd heard Timon utter over the years -- usually when he missed his target while chopping wood --Lynneth reached over the side of the oaken tub and grabbed her robe, pulling it on over her still-dripping form.

The latch slipped under her damp fingers, and this time she did swear as she clutched it grimly and forced it out of the way. "I told you to wait -- "she began, and then stopped.

The rain Ulfakh had smelled and Lynneth had felt just before she started her bath had begun in earnest. On the step stood the orc, glaring at her as his black hair plastered itself to his neck and dripped off his weathered hauberk. He held what looked like the remains of her saddlebags; she recognized the leather Timon had tooled so carefully, but now one of them was torn half open, although it appeared that its contents were still intact. Of course. Ulfakh had known the rain was coming, and had gone to salvage what he could from the carcass of her poor pony.

"I'm sorry," she said immediately, and stepped aside to let him in. She pulled the edges of her robe more tightly together as she did so, but she could not help but notice the quick glance he gave at the open collar of the garment, the curve of her breast it had revealed before she remembered to keep herself covered. Heat flamed in her cheeks, and she could only hope that the chancy illumination from the hearth and the candlestick that sat on the table across the room hid her blush. "I was taking a bath," she added, then gestured toward the oaken tub that sat in front of the hearth. "I needed it, after cleaning up that mess in the kitchen."

It was difficult for her to read his expression, since his features were so alien from anyone else's she had known, but Lynneth thought he looked a bit puzzled. He probably didn't even know what a bath was -- he certainly smelled as if he'd never had one in his life.

"The water's still warm," she offered, and pointed again at the tub.

"Get in -- that?" he asked. "Why?"

"To wash the dirt off," she explained. "People don't walk around crusted in filth -- at least not if they have a choice."

"Orcs do," he said immediately.

"I am not an orc," Lynneth returned. "And this is my house." Even as she said the words she wondered a little at her own temerity. But truthfully, he did stink, and she didn't know if she could bear to sit down and share a meal with him in his current state.

He glared at her, but she met his glare with one of her own, and crossed her arms under her breasts. After a moment she again saw that odd little muscle twitch in his cheek that reminded her of a smile. "Your house," he said, and reached up to pull off the rusty-looking chain mail shirt he wore. The tunic -- if that was what it had been -- he wore underneath was in even worse repair, rent in a dozen places and patched badly, and covered in so many stains Lynneth couldn't even be certain what the original color had been. And underneath that --

Oh, dear, she thought, and looked away quickly, the hot blood flooding her cheeks once more. "I -- I need to get dressed," she said, then fled the room even as she heard the huge orc lowering himself into the tub. She could only hope that he would figure out the soap on his own.

Once she was in the relative safety of her bedroom, she dropped the damp robe and drew on a shift and then one of her warmer woolen gowns. Her fingers shook a bit as they worked the lacings. Of course she was no unschooled virgin, but a woman who had been wed for more than two years. Lynneth knew how a man was built, but somehow she hadn't expected Ulfakh to be quite so free with his person. Then again, who knew what conventions of modesty orcs followed -- if any? But he had been so -- so, well, large, she had to admit. The memory brought the flush to her face again, and she shook her head, trying to rid it of the image of the orc's oversized private parts.

Perhaps attending to dinner would help distract her. Lynneth moved quickly from the bedroom to the kitchen, keeping her eyes averted as she passed the doorway into the great room. She could hear water splashing and hoped that Ulfakh wasn't getting too much of it on the floor. There were limits to how much cleaning up after the orc she wanted to do in a given day.

The boar haunch needed turning on the spit, and it was time to chop the apples, pears, and walnuts for the salad. Attending to the simple tasks -- and the increasingly toothsome smell of the boar roasting -- helped to put Lynneth's mind at ease...until she realized that she had provided nothing for Ulfakh to wear once he had gotten out of the tub. If he put those dreadful rags back on he might as well not have taken a bath in the first place.

Timon's spare garments still lay neatly folded in the chest at the foot the bed they had shared, but Lynneth wasn't sure they would fit -- Ulfakh looked to be only an inch or so taller than her late husband, but he was far broader in build, especially through the arms and shoulders. Still, she had to try. Perhaps if she took the sleeves off one of his tunics -- Ulfakh obviously didn't seem to mind the cold very much, and that would give some extra room. Her basket of sewing implements still sat on the table next to the bed, and Lynneth hurriedly ripped at the tunic's shoulder seams, hoping that she would be in time. At least Timon's old breeches would probably do -- they were quite baggy, and fastened around the waist with a drawstring that allowed for plenty of give.

As she hastened from the bedroom, she paused briefly in front of the large cabinet that stood at the end of the hall; in there she kept her spare linens, including some new towels that her sister had sent home with her the summer before. Lynneth grasped one, hesitated, and then took out another. After all, the orc had a great deal more surface area to dry off than she did.

When she peered around the corner into the living room, she was relieved to see that Ulfakh still sat in the tub. On closer inspection, it seemed almost that he slept. His head rested against the one end of the tub, and his eyes were shut. As she came closer, however, Lynneth saw a reddish gleam from under one eyelid and realized that he must have noted her approach.

"I brought you some clean clothes," she offered, holding them out in front of her almost like a shield.

He shifted in the tub, and she heard his long wet hair slap against the oak planks. "What's wrong with my own stuff?"

"Besides it being so filthy that it probably walked away on its own accord, I can't imagine," Lynneth retorted.

Ulfakh's response was a baring of teeth, and she took a step back before realizing that perhaps the expression was simply the orcish version of a smile.

"And here are some towels," she went on, extending her arm to hand them to him.

At least this time she was prepared, and cast her eyes down before she could see much more than the gleam of his bare back as he rose from the tub. He took the towels from her, and she shivered as his rough fingers brushed against her hand.

"I'll just put these clothes down on the chair over here," she said hastily, and stepped back a few paces. "I need to check on supper." And with that excuse she fled the room before he could embarrass her any further.

To keep herself occupied, Lynneth busied herself with clearing off the kitchen table and laying out the wooden plates and bowls for supper. She had a set of good pewter, given as a bride gift by Timon's father before his death, but of course she wasn't about to set those pieces out for the orc to sully. And she also had a real dining table, placed up against one wall in the great room, but again, this wasn't the sort of occasion that called for its use. A wave of sadness washed over her as she realized the last time she had sat at that table and eaten off her pewter dishes had been the night before Timon had left for Minas Tirith, never to return.

But she had no time for melancholy -- even as she lifted the boar haunch from the spit and rested it in the heavy earthenware platter she used for such purposes, she heard the orc speak from the doorway to the kitchen.

"Smells good."

Lynneth turned, and saw him standing there, watching her. The tunic strained across his broad chest, and she wondered how long the side seams would hold up against such abuse, but for now at least he was covered, and clean. His heavy black hair had left damp spots on the faded blue of the tunic, and she could tell even from where she stood that his coarse locks were still matted and knotted, but overall she had to admit he looked vastly improved.

"And you're just in time," she said, setting the platter down on the table. Unfortunately, she'd had no fresh bread, nor the time to make any, but there was enough left of the old loaf to feed them tonight, and she supplemented it with some soft yellow cheese. Her water came from a well at the back of the house and was very cold and pure; she poured it from a pitcher into the earthenware mugs that sat at either place setting.

Ulfakh appeared to hesitate, staring down at the little table and the two wooden chairs that flanked it. Lynneth had the curious thought that perhaps he had never sat down to a real meal at a real table before. So she pulled out her own chair and seated herself, then took the folded napkin of coarse linen from beside her plate and spread it across her lap. After a moment, the orc did the same, looking at the piece of faded fabric for a bit before he, too, spread it across his lap. The chair on which he sat groaned a bit as he shifted his weight, and Lynneth prayed silently that it wouldn't break into splinters under his considerable bulk.

She had just begun to reach for the platter that held the boar haunch to offer it to him when he seized the huge piece of pork and lifted it to his mouth, fangs bared.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" she asked, and he paused, staring at her with confused bloodshot eyes.

"Getting my dinner," he growled, but she thought she detected a hesitant tone in his rasping voice.

"You cut off what you need," Lynneth replied, and pointed to the sharp knife that lay alongside the boar haunch on the platter. "Then you put it on your own plate."

He made another snarling sound, but did as she said. The platter returned to the table top, and he lifted the knife and sawed away at the meat, cutting off a large, dripping hunk for himself. Then, to her surprise, he cut a second piece, and dropped it on her plate without ceremony.

"Well -- thank you," she said. A sudden stray comment Laragond's wife had made once passed through her mind, and she looked down to hide her smile.

Men! the miller's wife had snorted. You can train 'em -- if you get 'em young enough.

Lynneth wondered if that remark could also be applied to orcs. Are you planning on keeping him around long enough to train him? she asked herself. The thought was slightly appalling. Certainly she had only meant to feed him and send him along his way. Looking up from her plate, she watched the orc for a few moments from beneath her eyelashes. His table manners were dreadful, naturally -- he disdained the fork and knife and tore at the meat with his sharp teeth, and the boar seemed to be the only food he was interested in. The fruit salad, potato, and bread sat untouched by his plate.

But the rain had intensified -- she could hear it rustling against the thatched roof and dripping off the eaves. Surely she couldn't send him off in this. The cottage did have a second sleeping chamber. She and Timon had hoped that one day it would a nursery, but that day had never come.

She lifted a piece of roast boar to her mouth and chewed slowly, contemplating the situation. Did he expect to stay? What would he think if she asked him to spend the night in the cottage?

It's simple hospitality, she thought. Never mind that he probably doesn't even know what that is. And he did save your life, after all.

Well, that settled it. Lynneth allowed herself to eat for a few moments in silence -- obviously orcs were not given to indulging in dinnertime conversation. Then she said, before she lost her nerve, "You should stay. The rain is growing heavier."

He looked at her, his odd reddish-amber eyes narrowing. A trail of grease ran from the corner of his mouth. But he said nothing.

"I have a second bedchamber. The bed is small, but it should suit you." His continuing silence unnerved her, and Lynneth took a sip from her mug and suddenly wished it were wine, not water, that she drank. Perhaps a few draughts of the heady Belfalas vintage that rested securely in the cellar would have given her courage. "I would not wish to send you back out in that rain," she finished, feeling suddenly foolish.

Still he watched her with that unreadable expression. Perhaps another orc would have been able to tell what he was thinking, but to Lynneth his face was alien, bestial.

"I will stay," he said finally, and then reached out to carve himself another piece of boar.

"Good," Lynneth murmured, but even as she said the word she began to wonder if she had made a very great mistake...